


Can You Wake Up?

by FalseRoar



Series: Can You Wake Up? [1]
Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series), markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Humor, Blood and Injury, Car Accidents, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Horror, Mark Fischbach Egos, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, POV Second Person, Possession, Post-Who Killed Markiplier?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 22:50:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 33,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20016082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalseRoar/pseuds/FalseRoar
Summary: After a terrible car accident, you wake up to find yourself in an alternate reality where Markiplier and his egos believe you are the District Attorney from Who Killed Markiplier, finally freed from the mirror. While you deal with conflicting memories, visions of the past and future, and learn about what's happened in the decades since that party at Markiplier Manor, something else is lurking in the Iplier household.You weren't the only one to escape from the mirror that night.





	1. Great Things

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr starting in February of 2018, this story makes references to the "Mask"/Maskiplier character that appeared there. Written before the Wilford Motherloving Warfstache and Damien videos, this is the first story in what turned into a now completed series.

You came to a stop on your back, staring up at the night sky. Your breaths were sharp and shallow, each one dragging at the pain in your chest, the source of which you couldn’t move to look at even if you dared. Staring up at the moon, it took a moment to realize the edges of your vision were dimming, threatening to go out altogether.

The noise continued, somewhere up the hill. Horns blaring, almost but not quite drowning out all of the shouting. Footsteps, more shouting, then hands on your shoulders, voices that were just more meaningless noise as you struggled to stay conscious, to move, to breathe, to do anything.

Your vision fluttered out, the darkness swirling around your head as snippets of words came through.

“…stay with me…”

“…help is on its way…”

“…going to be okay…”

Your eyes cleared for a moment, your view of the moon now blocked by the silhouette of a man, a paramedic who was turned to look at someone else.

“…no good…”

“…no response, try it again…”

You tried to open your mouth, to speak, to make some noise, but nothing. Your body refused to move, and even your eyes seemed unable to look away from their upward gaze. What was he saying?

“Still no pulse, get the defib!” He sounded out of breath, and as more footsteps hurried away you heard him continue to move over a regular thumping sort of noise.

It wasn’t until you noticed that your view of the sky was moving in time to that noise that you realized he was performing CPR, chest compressions to try and keep your blood moving.

You weren’t breathing.

You were dying.

No. _No, no, no, no!_

This was wrong. You couldn’t be…No, you were still awake, you were still here, you had to do something—

Internally you screamed and raged, some part of you reaching out even as your body did not so much as twitch. Again your vision faded to darkness, and blind you reached out, searching.

_This was wrong!_

Your hands struck a smooth, cold surface in front of you even as you could feel them in the distance lying lifeless on the ground.

With eyes still staring sightlessly up at the sky, you could almost see the surface, see the distant shapes moving beyond the glass.

Even though your head could not move, you glanced over your shoulder and saw nothing but darkness, a void that pulled at you, threatening to drag you toward the… _something_ that stirred, out of sight but not unseen by some sixth sense that set your entire being on edge.

You turned back to the glass and screamed, pounding on the hard surface.

_Please, someone, anyone._

The shapes on the other side, did they stir? Did they stop, look your way?

You continued to pound on the glass even as your vision shifted back to the night sky, to the paramedics pulling out the defibrillator. The sound of the machine whirring to life mixed with the sound just out of reach, the sense of that…thing getting closer.

_It can’t end like this! You wouldn’t let it!_

As the first shock went through your body, the glass cracked. You didn’t even feel it, or the hand checking for a pulse.

“Nothing.”

You didn’t feel the second shock, but you did feel the glass give way as you fell forward, toppling out onto carpet covered in shards.

“Y/N!”

That voice, why was it so familiar? You tried to focus your eyes on the figure bending over you, who soon had one hand supporting your head and neck while the other closed over your other hand, putting pressure on the wound in your chest, but it was so hard to keep your eyes open, to focus. There was a high-pitched ringing in the air, making it that much harder to concentrate.

“Google, get the doctor! And keep everyone else away from here!”

You heard the affirmative from the voice so similar to the first except for the way it seemed to come in layers.

Google? No, it couldn’t be…

You strained to look at the man holding your head, keeping you from moving. He was so hard to see, his edges blurring and shifting, but you could make out enough. No, they weren’t real. What was going on?

You tried to speak, but he shook his head and said, “Don’t move, Y/N. Your neck is broken. Just stay still.”

His voice was low and calming, but that just sent a new wave of panic through you. “Da…Dark…How…know my name?”

Even just those few words in a voice so weak even you could barely hear it sent a new spasm of pain through your chest and ricocheting up your neck, but you could feel Dark’s hand tense over your own, pulling away for just a moment before he returned to applying pressure on the wound.

You couldn’t see his expression before your eyes fluttered shut and again you were staring up at the night sky, unable to move as the cold seeped through your body, the same chill from the void behind the mirror seeming to emanate from your bones. One of the paramedic’s voices drifted over to you, as numb and distant as your unresponsive body.

“…going to call it in…”

You closed your eyes and breathed out, feeling the chill rasp out of your lungs.

“Y/N!”

You realized that you were staring up into Dark’s face, his expression still unreadable.

“It’s okay, you’re here now,” he said, his voice hypnotic, lulling. “It was just a bad dream, it’s not real, Y/N.”

“N-no…” The protest was weak, and it took all your energy to get out the next word, “R-real…”

Dark stared down at you, careful to keep his mask in place even as his thoughts moved quickly. He had been walking down the hall with Google and the Host, passing notes from the last meeting, when he heard the glass of the mirror creak.

It wasn’t THE mirror, but he saw your face in it all the same, eyes closed even as you screamed soundlessly, fists pounding against the mirror’s surface. He hadn’t seen you like that in years, so long ago that he had given up any interest until Mark interfered. And then you woke up, with the crack of the mirror, and there wasn’t even the time to catch you before you landed in the hallway, bleeding out over shards of broken glass.

“Y/N…” Dark said softly. He tried to ignore the ceaseless stream of the Host’s narration behind him and did not even look over his shoulder as the doctor approached with Google.

“Google, perform a diagnostic,” Dr. Iplier said, but Dark barely listened as the android began to number the broken bones, the severity of the wound. He could still feel the cold emanating from your body from when you drifted off just a moment ago and he sought for the right words to subdue and calm you.

They didn’t come in time and you tried to shake your head, only to convulse in pain, images streaming faster than you could fully understand them.

_Dark, staring back at you from the other side of the mirror before his mouth turned down in disgust._

_The colonel, William, holding your body and rocking back and forth as tears streamed down his cheeks._

_William, no, Wilford, still holding you close as his body racked with laughter._

_Mark, holding out his hands, pleading even as you backed away._

_High-pitched but familiar laughter coming out of the darkness as you tried to run._

_Mark, no, not Mark, a thing that looked like Mark but with dark pits for eyes and a smile (was that a smile?) stretching its face out of shape, with blood, so much blood everywhere…_

Dark tried to hold you still as your body arced, the bones in your neck cracking and shifting under his grip.

“Recalculating diagnostic,” Google said, less than helpfully. “3…1…0 broken bones. Recalculating.”

As Dr. Iplier knelt on the other side of you to try to help hold you still, Dark glanced at the Host.

“Y/N thrashes as visions overtake them,” Host narrated, his calm tone unchanging. “The same energy is healing their body, but it is not enough to entirely repair the damage. Before their wound is entirely healed, they give in to exhaustion.”

Even as the words left his mouth, you stopped moving and sighed, your head rolling into the crook of Dark’s arm. The hand underneath his own relaxed, revealing a wound that was still visible under the torn shirt but no longer bleeding. While the doctor took a closer look, Dark stared down at your sleeping face, the wheels in his mind still turning.

“Host, when you say visions…”

“Visions of past memories, of future events,” Host said, and preempted Dark’s question by saying, “The Host cannot see the contents of these visions.”

“You…” The wheels in Dark’s mind hit a speed bump. “You can’t?”

“No, the Host cannot see what Y/N just saw,” the Host said, tone still unchanged, but Dark recognized the expression the ego could not quite contain as it mirrored his own fascination.

Dark looked down at your sleeping face, unable to hide his smile.

He could feel great things coming.


	2. I'm Sorry, You're Dying

_“Y/N!”_

You woke with a start, sure that someone had just called your name, but the room around you felt quiet and still, aside from a small, persistent beeping. The lights overhead were dimmed, and out of the corner of your eye you could see curtains drawn around your bed, blocking the rest of the room from view.

It was all you could do to keep your eyes open as you struggled to remember how you got here and why you felt so bone-aching tired. A vague memory stirred, but you quickly killed it, dismissing it as a stupid dream before trying to sit up.

Yeah, that wasn’t about to happen.

You barely made it an inch before the wave of pain centered around your neck and chest sent you back down with a barely stifled groan. On second thought, it really was a comfortable bed. Why leave it so soon, when you were just getting acquainted?

The curtain made a screech as it was pulled back by a young-looking doctor, who was clean shaven and—

You didn’t bother holding back this groan when you recognized Dr. Iplier. Oh, God, it wasn’t a dream.

“I’m sorry, you’re dying,” he said, almost out of reflex.

“Well, last I heard I was dead, so…” The words came out before you could think, an impressive feat considering the weight resting on your chest that made each breath an effort.

The doctor cracked a smile, even though you weren’t sure that was a joke. “I’m surprised you’re awake already, Y/N. You should be resting, after what you went through earlier.”

“After…?” You frowned as the memories came back and immediately pushed them away, trying to focus on something, anything else.

There was shouting, somewhere off in the distance, and Dr. Iplier must have mistaken your expression because he said, “Don’t worry, there’s always someone making noise around here, probably being idiots.”

His smile this time seemed more forced than the one a moment before, and you thought you saw his eyes shift toward the door before he turned to the monitor near your head that was keeping track of your vitals.

Other people. Did he mean… You closed your eyes to fight off that headache of a thought and asked, “How do you know my name?”

When you opened your eyes, you saw him glance at something on the other side of your bed before shrugging. “Dark called you that. I take it you two know each other?”

You turned your head to see what he had been looking at and got a brief glimpse of a chair pulled up next to your bed, a bloodstained black jacket thrown over the back of it, before you winced at the twinge in your neck and the doctor was immediately at your side, his hands on your neck, gently pressing against the skin.

“Just a bit of swelling,” he murmured under his breath, but it sounded loud in your ear as your body tensed at his touch, only relaxing when he finally leaned back. “Sorry, just had to be sure. Believe me, I’ve handled much worse than a broken neck and a gunshot wound, but then we’re—”

He paused and this time you both glanced at the door. The yelling had been getting louder without either of you noticing, but now it was close enough that you could make out the anger and desperation in the voices, if not the actual words.

“Nothing to worry about,” the doctor said after a moment, but his face was much paler now. “Tell me, how are you feeling?”

Your mind threw up a hundred metaphors, but none of them quite conveyed how crappy you felt right now mixed with that deep sense of unease tinged with confusion. Broken neck? Gunshot wound? What was he talking about?

“I…Not great,” you started and stopped, one hand reaching up to rub at the headache forming above and behind your right temple, made worse by the ringing in your ears. You stared at the bandages wrapped around your hand, from your fingers down to your wrist.

“Oh, yes, the glass did a number on your hands,” Dr. Iplier said. “Looks like you’ll have some serious bruising as well. May I take your temperature?”

You nodded, maybe, you weren’t sure but he was already reaching for the thermometer and you barely noticed it in your mouth. Looking at the bandages on your hands, you remembered pounding on the glass, oblivious to the damage you were doing to your own hands if it meant getting out of that place, away from that… _thing_ in the void. You shuddered, and the doctor gave you a look of concern while he waited for the thermometer to read your temperature.

“A little low,” he murmured after taking it out, and glanced at the monitor again. “I’ll change your bandages later, but for now you need to—”

“Y/N!”

You both jumped and the doctor swore. You knew that voice, not that that seemed to mean much around here. You looked to the doctor to ask, but he was already pulling the curtain shut around your bed with a hushed, “Stay here.”

Stay here? Did he actually think you could even get up? More importantly, why did he sound so scared?

“Where are they? What did you do?!”

It was the same voice yelling out again, but this time you heard the low sound of Dark answering.

“Shut up you fool, before you wake everyone up. Do you really want them asking questions?” He was no longer attempting to sound soothing, and the venom practically dripped from his words as he added, “Besides, it seems you would be in a better position to know the answer to that. How could they possibly have wound up here?”

“I saw them! In the shard, I saw them screaming before the mirror cracked, and then they were gone. They weren’t at the house, so they have to be here.”

“…You went to the house?”

“Get out of my way, Dark!”

The door banged open and you heard a shout from Dr. Iplier before the curtains opened with an epic screech that still did not compare to the ringing coming from the doorway. Mark stopped short, his hand on the curtain as he stared down at you in disbelief.

“Y/N?”

“Mark?”

Maybe you’d thought before about what you would say to Mark, if you ever got the chance to meet him. Maybe you thought that if given the chance you would tell him how much his videos meant to you, or be too shy to say anything, or just, you know, make a joke about his height or something. Normal stuff.

Now, though, only one question came to mind, and you practically pleaded for an answer. “What’s going on?”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Mark said, his face shifting into an easy, practiced smile. “I’m here to take you home, Y/N.”

“I would recommend against moving them,” Dr. Iplier said. “The wound on their chest still needs attention, and the amount of energy they used earlier to heal their neck—”

“Don’t touch them!” Dark interrupted, grabbing Mark’s wrist as he reached out for you. Despite the two of them being the same height, Dark seemed to tower over the other man with the shifting, swirling black cloud that surrounded him now, flickers of red and blue shining through every now and then. Behind them, eyes wide, Dr. Iplier moved toward the door and slipped out of the room, unnoticed by either.

Mark pushed him away, seemingly unimpressed by the light show. “How did they get here, Dark? What did you do?”

“Why do you think I’m the one who woke your precious pet up?” Dark scowled at Mark, an almost feral hum coming from his chest. “This seems more like your…handiwork to me.”

The ringing was terrible now, and you pressed a bandaged hand to the side of your head in an attempt to keep it from splitting right in half.

“Can you…stop that?” You asked, the words hard to get out with your head pounding. Through one half-open eye, you could see both of them look your way as if just remembering you were still there. “The ringing, can you stop it?”

“Of course,” Dark said, his tone changing almost as fast as his aura withdrawing to a barely visible outline, the ringing disappearing with it. He took the seat by your bed and reached for his jacket lapels out of habit before remembering that he had taken it off, then gave you a winning smile. “Anything for you, Y/N.”

“Don’t pull that,” Mark said, placing one hand protectively on the side of your bed opposite Dark. “Do you really think you can pretend like you care? You’re the one who left them trapped in a mirror for 85 years!”

Wait…

Your headache was taking its time to go away, but something clicked in your mind.

“Yes, do speak to me about morals while you walk around in that body. I did so much need a laugh today.”

The way they were talking, it was almost like…

“Don’t,” Mark said, his voice low and menacing.

Dark tilted his head with a subtle crack and then smiled at Mark. “Oh, that’s right, you’ve been trying to ‘make amends.’ Is that why you’re here, or did you just want your pet back?”

“Oh, God.” You didn’t realize you said it out loud until both of them looked at you. You swallowed, feeling how ridiculous the question was even as you said it. “You don’t…think I’m the District Attorney, do you?”

They took so long to respond that you thought you must have been mistaken, until Mark said, “Well, yeah, who else would you be?”


	3. Just a Dream

Your expression must have answered for you, because Mark moved closer to your bed, pulling up a chair of his own so that he was closer to eye level. “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, ignoring the twinge in your neck as you tried to find the words to even begin to list everything that was wrong here. “I’m not…I’m Y/N, yeah, but I’m not _them_. That was just a bunch of videos, something you made up, Mark.”

Dark shifted in his chair, as if to get a better look at you. His intense gaze was not making things better. “You know about the Who Killed Markiplier videos.”

“Y-yeah,” you stammered, practically able to feel Mark’s disbelief even if you didn’t understand why he was surprised. You were thrown off by Dark’s stare but you continued, “Why wouldn’t I? I mean, they’re…right there on the first page of his YouTube channel…”

It was hard to just say you were a fan of Markiplier with Dark sitting right there. As much as you might have loved his character, being in the same room as him was…unsettling, like all of a sudden your whole body was sending off alarm bells to just get out of there every time he smiled or his eyes rested on you. Every now and then there would be a ripple in his appearance, a red or blue flash of something else in his dark aura that disappeared before you could really see it.

“Y/N,” Mark said, his voice shaking slightly. “I know your memories are a bit confused right now, you’ve been through a lot the past couple of…but you _were_ the District Attorney. You were our–my friend. Don’t you remember any of that?”

“No,” you said, trying to figure out why Mark wasn’t understanding. “I can’t be them, it wasn’t real. Even if it was, all of that took place back in like the 30s or 40s or something, right? I wasn’t even born then!”

You mentioned the year you were born and swore you saw Dark shoot Mark a look as he shifted uneasily in his chair.

“You remember another life,” Dark said, and when you nodded, added, “Dreams from the mirror.”

“No,” you said, feeling a rush of frustration. “They weren’t dreams, that was– _is_ my life _._ I don’t…I don’t know what’s going on here, if I’m dreaming or what—”

“Y/N, I don’t know what you saw in that mirror, but maybe if you just tried to remember…” Mark trailed off, letting the suggestion rest in the air.

You felt a spike of anger, not something you ever expected to feel toward Mark, not really. A small voice in your head that sounded like you but not quite whispered, _Why isn’t he listening? Doesn’t he know what he’s saying?_

“Perhaps that dream was more…preferable to your reality,” Dark conceded. “If so, what drove you to break out of the mirror?”

“It…I…” Softly you said, “…It was an accident.”

You didn’t see the shared look between Mark and Dark, the alarm at those all too familiar words.

“The other car came around the corner too fast. I—I think my seatbelt broke, I thought there was something wrong when I buckled it before, but it was supposed to just be a short trip. I went out of the car, I-I-I—” You broke off, your eyes clouding over with the memory of the screeching metal, the crash, the pain, the people who just wouldn’t listen when you tried to move, to prove you were still alive. Or maybe it was just the tears making their way down your cheeks.

“Y/N,” Mark said softly, moving to put a hand on your shoulder to comfort you.

Again Dark grabbed his wrist, but you were the one who felt another flash of anger, stronger this time. The voice in the back of your head, the one calm part of you that wasn’t freaking out over all of this, spoke again: _Don’t let them do this._

You sat up so that you could look them both straight on as you yelled, “It wasn’t a dream!”

“Y/N—” They both started to speak, but you were shaking now.

“Believe it or not, but someone telling me that my whole life, that everyone and everything I know and love isn’t real is _not_ helping! Even if all of that stuff I can barely remember did happen, then that means you two are the _last_ people I should ever trust!” You felt the tremor run through your body as what they were saying sank in. “It means one of you is a friggin demon wearing a friend’s face who trapped me in that mirror! Meanwhile, the other one’s the idiot who started all of this instead of just asking for help and who’s now walking around in that friend’s actual body!”

There it was. Because, if they were right, then that meant this wasn’t your Mark, the one you knew, loved, and at times wanted to throw into the ocean. This was Markiplier, Actor Mark, whatever you wanted to call him. The man who ruined so many lives in just three days, including, if they were right, your own.

But of course, none of this was real. Right?

“Wait, barely remember?” Mark asked, once he had recovered from your outburst. “So that means you remember something?”

“Really? That’s what you took from that?” You shook your head, ignoring the now familiar twinge in your neck as you tried to wipe away the tears. “I don’t know, earlier I thought I saw…It was just a mess of stuff, none of it made sense.”

Dark spoke, his soft, cajoling voice setting you back on your edge. “Y/N, please, tell us. It might help to talk about what you saw.”

 _He’s manipulating you_ , the voice in your head said, pointing out the obvious. _But he’s right, you need to tell them._

“I saw you, and Mark, in the house from Who Killed Markiplier. Not, not together, I mean…” You paused, taking a moment to try and gather your thoughts. “It was different things, one after the other. One minute I saw the colonel crying, and then it’s Wilford, laughing. I saw…It looked like you, Mark, but its eyes were wrong, and its smile…”

Mark looked confused, so you tried to explain. “It looked like that thing from Tumblr a while back, when you changed your profile pic and did the whole mask thing.”

He looked even more confused now. “…What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He was doing this now? “Seriously, Mark, you know what I’m talking about. All those weird posts when you were coming home from tour, right after you said Dark and Wilford were dead.”

Dark gave Mark the most outraged, affronted look he could muster. “You did _what?_ ”

“That was a joke,” Mark said hastily before he tried to turn the attention back to you. “But I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Still, you remember us and the colonel, so that’s a good start—”

This again. Before you could interrupt him yourself, the door to the infirmary burst open and slammed into the wall behind it as Wilford Warfstache barreled into the room.

“Y/N! There you are, you scamp!”

No one had time to react, and Mark and Dark certainly could not have stopped Wilford before he bounded across the room and leapt onto the bed next you, throwing an arm around your shoulders. Thank God he didn’t sit on the other side where all the wires and tubes were.

He grinned at you, his eyes practically shining above that ridiculous pink mustache, and you couldn’t help but grin back even if you still felt like crying. Maybe his smile was that infectious, or maybe it was just a relief to have some kind of distraction from what you were thinking right now.

“How did you know they were here?” Mark asked, rising from his chair. Opposite him, Dark also seemed to be bracing himself for something. “Wilford, do you…do you remember Y/N?”

“Do I?!” Wilford chuckled, giving your shoulder a squeeze. “Best unpaid intern I ever had! Until they went and ran off before I could give them their college credit! How have you been, Y/N?”

“Uh…” You hesitated, aware that both of the others just visibly relaxed. “Could be dead, so…”

“Brilliant!” Wilford looked at Mark as if just realizing he was here. “Why, if it isn’t the handsome, world-famous Markiplier! Back for another interview?”

“Oh, God no.”

“Mark was just stopping by to check on our friend here, Wil,” Dark said, eyeing the other ego carefully. “He won’t be spending the night.”

“Says who?” Mark said, but you were barely listening.

Wilford Warfstache was a crazy, dangerous man, you knew that. He killed people like it meant nothing, because to him it _didn’t_ mean anything. It was all just a joke. If Mark and Dark were right, although you still believed this was just some dream or nightmare, then he was the man who had shot you.

But leaning against him now, you felt peaceful, to the point your eyelids began to droop, your body giving in to the desire to just go back to sleep.

_You saw him again, gun in hand, facing the Detective who had his back to the door. You reached out, unheard over the shouting, and felt your whole body jolt with the gunshot. You remembered the Colonel, holding your body as tears dripped down his cheeks, repeating the same words over and over again._

“I’m so sorry. It was an accident,” he whispered in your ear.

“What did you just say?” Dark said.

“Left a red sock in the station wash, turned everything pink!” Wilford declared. “Poor Y/N got blamed for it, but I think it made all our clothes fabulous! Let me tell you about the time we took the Jims out for some investigative reporting…”

You fell asleep at some point in his story to the sound of his laughter rumbling through his chest where your head lay. While Wilford did not stop in telling one wildly false tale after another, his grip around your shoulders tightened just a bit, as if some small part of him was afraid you might disappear again.


	4. Warning Signs

The next time you woke up you found Dr. Iplier in the middle of checking the bandage on your chest, so intent on his work that he didn’t notice you were awake. From somewhere behind the curtain drawn around your bed came the Host’s voice, quietly narrating to himself.

“Dr. Iplier peels back the bandages and checks the wound in an attempt to determine if it has improved since he last changed the bandages. Markiplier paces back and forth as he waits for an answer. Y/N is listening to the Host’s words while they watch the doctor. They make no attempt to look closer at the used bandages or the—”

Dr. Iplier stopped at the Host’s words, and from the other side of the curtain Mark said, “Y/N is awake?”

“The Host strongly recommends that Markiplier reconsider opening the curtain, as the doctor is still working.”

“The doctor would like to second that,” Dr. Iplier called over his shoulder before he said to you, “I’m changing your bandages, sorry if I woke you up.”

You shook your head ‘no,’ your eyelids already fluttering with the effort of staying awake.

“This might sting a little,” Dr. Iplier warned before he applied the antiseptic. A sharp hiss escaped through your teeth and he smiled before applying the bandage. “The good news is, the wound isn’t as serious as when you came in. At this rate, in a few days you’ll be as good as new.”

A few days? You weren’t the doctor, but that didn’t sound right.

“How long have I been asleep?”

Dr. Iplier started to look at his watch, but Mark answered from the other side of the curtain, “Since you got here? A few hours I think. 5, maybe 6?”

“Wha—How…?” You looked at the doctor for an explanation.

He shrugged. “Same thing you did to heal your neck earlier, just slower now after you used up so much energy before. That’s why you need to go back to sleep.”

“Energy? I can’t…I’m not Wolverine, I can’t just regenerate or whatever!” You winced, realizing a little too late that raising your voice made your chest hurt.

“Wolverine?”

“Y/N is referring to a member of the X-Men, as seen in comic books and movies,” the Host said. “Perhaps if the doctor would not skip movie night with the other egos so often, he might know this.”

“Okay, the next time Bing messes up his latest stunt on a Tuesday night I’ll just wait until after the movie to repair him,” Dr. Iplier said with a roll of his eyes. As he helped you cover back up you noticed that despite his tone, he seemed much more at ease than he did the last time you saw him.

He even smiled after he drew back the curtain in time to see the Host shrug and say, “The Host suggests that it might help Bing learn his lesson, although the Host doubts it.”

He still hadn’t answered your question though, but Mark was looking guilty, even more so when you caught his eyes.

“What?” you asked, too tired to bother with more words.

“Well, Dark and I were talking…” Mark trailed off, scowling at the thought, and both of the egos looked at him. “You know—well, maybe you don’t remember yet, but that house had an effect on all of us. It kept me from dying, even when I—Even now, it’s still keeping me alive. You were in that mirror, in that place, for a long time.”

“Hey, if it means I’m not dead…” you said without much emotion. 85 years, according to what Mark said earlier. Yeah, a bit of a long time. A sick, twisting feeling lurked in your stomach at the thought, even if you still didn’t think you were who this Mark thought you were. Maybe the doctor was right about getting some rest.

You noticed that the Host was still narrating, his mouth moving quickly as a steady stream of words poured out too quiet for you to hear, but his bandaged eyes were pointed at you and Mark.

“Look, once you’re feeling well enough, I’m going to get you out of here, okay?” Mark said. He took a seat in one of the chairs next to your bed and gave you a warm smile. “Some fresh air will help you clear your head, and then we can figure out what’s going on together. How’s that sound?”

He rested a hand on your arm, above where your bandages ended.

“Sounds…” It sounded great up until you remembered that this wasn’t your Mark. Really, the only things you knew for sure about him was what you had seen in the Who Killed Markiplier videos, and that alone would have been enough to make you flinch back at his touch without what happened next.

_The moment his hand touched your arm you saw the same image of Mark you had earlier, Mark back at the house, Markiplier Manor or whatever he called it, reaching out for you as you backed away._

_“I’m going to get you out of here, okay?”_

_Something was wrong. This was wrong, why were he was here? Why did he come back? You felt the panic filling you even though you did not know why and felt your body tense, ready to turn and run._

Before you could make any sense of what was going on, the image faded into an exhausted sleep.

Mark jumped when the Host spoke right behind him.

“The Host reminds Markiplier that Dark recommended against touching Y/N in this state.”

Mark removed his hand but scowled. “I don’t see why. If it helps them get their memories back, then it seems like the opposite of what we should be doing.”

“Markiplier forgets that not all of Y/N’s memories are pleasant. The effort it takes Y/N to see what they see may not be worth what they receive in return, when that effort could be put toward recovering their health.”

“Did Dark say that?” Mark asked, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest.

“No, the Host did. Just now.”

Mark twisted his head around to look at the Host, but with the ego’s eyes covered and his emotionless tone, it was impossible to tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

“Fine,” Mark said, drawing the word out. “We’ll do this the slow and responsible way.”

Dr. Iplier saw the warning signs and tried to pull the Host away, but he could not stop the other ego from saying, “The Host wishes his creator well in learning what responsibility means. The Host believes it will be an interesting experience for both Markiplier and Dark. Dr. Iplier pulls the Host away while suggesting that he go get some rest as well. The Host acknowledges that it has been a long day and allows the doctor to lead him to the door.”

The Host’s narration continued in a low murmur as he left the infirmary and the doctor shot Mark a look before retreating to his desk.

Mark stared at the door after the Host left. Yes, he was pretty sure that had been sarcasm.

Since when did the Host use sarcasm?


	5. A Difficult Read

After that, you drifted in and out of sleep. Every time you woke up, Mark, Dark, Wilford, or some combination of the three was beside your bed. When it was just one of them, either Dr. Iplier or Google was in the room with him, the doctor usually at his desk while the android stood in the corner nearest the door, his head slightly bowed and his eyes unfocused on anything in particular.

Except for the one time when you woke up to find the curtains drawn around your bed again. You couldn’t move your head, but you were lying at enough of an angle to see that the curtains were the wrong color. There were a lot of voices coming from the other side of the curtain, all hushed, and you could hear the beep and whir of medical machines besides those of your own. Were there other patients here? You hadn’t noticed any before.

Through a gap in the curtains you could see a man in a white coat, a doctor, but not Dr. Iplier. He had one hand on the curtain around your bed while he spoke to a nurse you had never seen before, both too engrossed in their own conversation to notice that you were awake.

Their voices sounded muffled and distorted, like they were talking underwater. You took in a breath to speak and your chest throbbed with a sharp pain, waking you up.

You sat up, one hand to your chest until you finished coughing. The familiar curtains were back, only half drawn around your bed so that you could clearly see most of the rest of the room. Someone had removed the IV from your hand, and your sudden movement knocked off the pads connecting you to the heart monitor. At first you thought you were alone, no sign of Mark or any of his egos or the strange doctor and nurse, until you heard the Host’s quiet murmuring and spotted him sitting in a chair next to the doctor’s desk.

“Y/N notices the Host. The Host agreed to stay here while Dr. Iplier checked on one of the egos who apparently decided to eat glue. The Host does not know why this would be appealing, but some of the younger egos are very impressionable. Wilford Warfstache is to return soon and keep Y/N company while Markiplier and Dark discuss Y/N.”

“Discuss me?” You moved so that your legs were hanging off the bed and quickly pulled the blanket so that it covered you. You looked at the Host out of reflex, but his head was tilted toward the ground, the bandages around his eyes white and freshly changed. “What does that mean?”

“They are debating on where Y/N is to stay, as Y/N does not seem to have anywhere else to go. Google has performed multiple searches and found no record of Y/N, either in the present or in the past as the district attorney. Google is still searching with no result.” The Host tilted his head as if listening to something and continued, “The others have left clothes for Y/N on the chair, if they wish to get dressed. The Host is given to understand that the shirt is one that Google no longer uses, after the last time Wilford took over laundry duty.”

You looked over at the clothes and saw a fluorescent pink shirt with a barely visible ‘G’ on the chest lying on top of a pair of blue jeans which looked newer. You weren’t entirely sure what kind of fabric the shirt was made from, and noticed that the ‘G’ had something that looked suspiciously like a port for a plug on the inside.

“Wilford is no longer allowed in the laundry room,” the Host added.

“Thank you,” you said. At this point you didn’t care what the clothes looked like as long as they weren’t covered in blood and didn’t have a gaping hole in the front. You had to lean on the bed at first, but standing up was easier than you expected it to be. Now that you thought about it, your neck didn’t even give that familiar twinge any more when you turned it.

You pulled the curtains shut before changing, mostly out of habit. Sure the Host couldn’t see anything, at least as far as you could tell, but you weren’t about to change in front of him. Besides, someone could come in.

“If Y/N has a question for the Host, then the Host would suggest asking now while the opportunity is available.”

You guessed that you shouldn’t be surprised he knew. Pulling on the shirt over your bandage was more difficult than you expected, especially with your hands still wrapped up, but it gave you some extra time to put your thoughts together before you pulled back the curtains and looked at the ego.

“You narrate people and things, what’s going on, what they’re doing, right?”

“That is one of the Host’s abilities, yes.”

“Then you know that I’m not the District Attorney, the person that Mark and Dark think that I am, right?”

The Host hesitated. “Y/N is…difficult for the Host to read. Y/N confuses the Host, whenever he tries. The Host sees fragments, broken pieces that do not fit together. Just as the Host cannot see Y/N’s visions, memories of the past and future, the Host can only see the effect they have on Y/N.”

“Did you just say future?” You thought back to the things you saw, right after you got here. “You mean some of that stuff hasn’t happened yet?”

You remembered Wilford jumping onto your bed last night to sit next to you, laughing like the madman that he was. You had seen that before, hadn’t you? Did that mean what you saw with Mark, with the _thing_ that looked like Mark, could happen too?

“From the Host’s experience, they may not happen at all. The future is even more difficult to read than Y/N, and even observation may be enough to change it.”

“Okay…” You took a deep breath, trying to let this all sink in. It hadn’t worked yet, but you kept trying. “So, you can’t tell me if this is real or not?”

“Would Y/N believe the Host if he did? It is not the place of the Host to tell Y/N what is real for them. Even as the Author, the Host could not completely force others to accept a reality they refused to believe in, as much as he tried. Since then, the Host has found more…subtle ways to achieve what the Host wants. Others will try, but in time Y/N must decide for themselves.”

It wasn’t hard to guess who the Host meant by “others”, when apparently Mark and Dark were off by themselves somewhere arguing about what to do with you.

The Host turned his head toward the door, but that was the only warning you got before Wilford Warfstache burst into the room, pushing a wheelchair.

“Look what I found!” he bellowed with a grin.

The Host frowned, and something that sounded suspiciously like surprise filled his voice as he said, “The Host was under the impression that Wilford went to retrieve breakfast for Y/N.”

“Yes, but then I thought, why be in this stuffy room? Why not take Y/N _to_ breakfast?” Wilford turned to you. “What do you say, Y/N? Want to go for a spin? Ooh, I like the shirt.”

“That sounds great,” you said. It felt like you had been sleeping for days, so any chance to get out of this room and clear your head sounded like a wonderful idea. “But I think I can walk there, we don’t need the wheelchair.”

“Then why don’t you push me?” Wilford said, his eyes lighting up.

“The Host reminds Wilford that Markiplier and Dark will not approve of Y/N leaving the infirmary and meeting the other egos.”

Wilford tilted his head. “Are you going to stop us, Hosty?”

“No, the Host simply wished to remind Wilford of possible consequences. The Host would like to come with Y/N and Wilford, to observe…And because the Host has not eaten breakfast either.”

“Brilliant! Lead the way, Hosty!” Wilford said as he plopped into the wheelchair.

You took hold of the handles, unable to suppress a smile. Dreams and visions and worrying about what happens next could wait until after breakfast.


	6. Great Googly Moogly

You followed the Host out of the infirmary and through a series of hallways, pushing Wilford in the wheelchair while he hummed a familiar tune to himself. You passed a staircase leading up and a few closed doorways without seeing anyone else, or much of anything at all really besides a few end tables, the occasional vase that looked like a colorblind kindergartner made it in art class, and a huge room sprawled with couches and chairs and a large TV.

You didn’t get much of a chance to look at the room closer as the Host continued on without pausing, quietly murmuring to himself all the way. The scent of frying bacon and pancakes hit you long before you reached the kitchen, and your stomach was already rumbling by the time you heard the other voices.

The Host pushed open the door to the kitchen and stepped aside so that you could wheel the chair in past him, but you stopped short just inside the room as the men sitting around the table in the middle and the chef at the stove turned to look at you.

“Good evening everybody, I’m Wilford Warfstache!”

“It’s not even nine o’clock yet, Wilf,” said the man with the brown mullet and mustache, his eyes hidden by thick sunglasses. Ed Edgar took a deep sip of his coffee and added in a slow drawl, “I may not be a smart man, but I can tell time.”

The table was long, and most of the chairs were empty. The Host nodded his head toward Chef Iplier, who smiled and started a fresh batch of pancakes, and sat down at the end of the table away from the other three where he continued his narration.

Before you could really worry about where to sit, Wilford leapt up and pulled you into the seat at the head of the table.

“Hey. I’m Bim Trimmer.” To your left, the game show host flashed you a smile. His eyes dropped to your shirt and he asked, “Is this a new Google?”

A few places down, Google whirred into life and glared at Bim. “Incorrect. The i-idea that a human c-could match my capabilities is i-insulting.”

Why was Google at the table? It wasn’t to eat anything, considering the table in front of him was completely bare, but then you noticed the slim cord plugged into the back of his neck and running down his back to an outlet in the wall. You guessed that charging was close enough to eating for the android, or maybe that outlet was just convenient for him.

“Y/N is my unpaid intern,” Wilford said, taking the seat to your right.

“Sure, let’s go with that,” you said with a half-hearted shrug. It sounded more real than what was really going on, which made it that much weirder that it came from Wilford. “Nice to meet you, Bim, Google.”

Bim didn’t frown, but his smile became slightly more forced. “Hold on there Wilf, I think between the two of us we know who really needs an intern.”

“Well, yeah, I do. Mine just keep disappearing for some reason.” Wilford shrugged amiably. “Just not cut out for the hard-hitting world of journalism.”

“Remind me again, when was the last time you had a real interview?” Bim opened his hands and gestured to himself. “Meanwhile, my show is breaking records.”

“M-most deaths in a game show s-since the April 8th, 1982 episode of Jeopardy,” Google said and Bim nodded happily.

So many questions, but before you could ask, Ed Edgar spoke up.

“Look, robot man, when is this update of yours going to be over with? I just got used to you talking out of four mouths, and now here you are stuttering again.”

“Scheduled u-update is 47 percent c-complete.”

“What?! You said it was 42 half an hour ago!”

“Update times are an e-estimate. The initial file is d-difficult to render for transfer to ad-d-d-ditonal units and s-security protocols had to be updated f-first. This w-would go much faster without interruptions.”

Meanwhile, Wilford and Bim were still bickering over who should get their nonexistent intern and you started to relax. This was almost…normal. A weird normal, but compared to everything else, still normal. You poured yourself a drink and took a long, slow sip, watching as, apparently unnoticed by any of the others except probably the Host, the back door opened and a man wearing a crown and dressed in robes peeked his head in. Keeping an eye on Chef Iplier, the man slinked over to the cabinets and pulled out a jar of peanut butter before sneaking back outside. Through the window, you watched him dab the peanut butter on his face before taking off toward the trees in the distance with a declaration of “I’m King of the Squirrels!”, unobserved by all except for you, the Host, and the two identically dressed men who seemed to be recording the whole process from behind a bush.

Yep, normal.

You took another long, slow sip of your drink.

A minute later, Wilford gave a gasp of delight as Chef Iplier placed a fresh stack of pancakes between the two of you before taking a plate around to the Host, and he wasted no time doling the stack out onto both of your plates.

“Thank you,” you said, faltering a little as Wilford continued, adding strawberries, butter, whipped cream, and enough syrup to drown it all on top. And then started to go for a second layer. “N-no, that’s enough!”

Wilford shrugged and shot a stream of whipped cream into his mouth. “Ofkay, if you vay vo.”

Bim frowned and flicked a speck of cream off of his suit before looking around. “Where is everybody else?”

Ed Edgar shrugged and poured himself another cup of coffee. “Couldn’t get Silver out of his closet. Guy’s crying over his girlfriend cheating on him with himself again. Not right in the head, if you ask me.”

“Dr. Iplier examines Yanderiplier, who refuses to answer his questions. The red Google approaches the kitchen to check on the blue Google while the green and yellow Googles observe the upstairs hallway and perform searches. Dark and Markiplier continue to argue in Dark’s office, neither willing to—”

A stream of coffee spurt out of Ed’s mouth and Bim paled, his game show smile disappearing completely. Behind you, Chef dropped his tray and turned red at the noise.

“Excuse me, did you just say Markiplier is here?”

Ed wiped his mouth off with his sleeve and asked, “What’s that stuck up idjit doing here? He never comes around no more, not since last year!”

Google visibly twitched and he stared at Ed, his eyes narrowed. “You s-seem to be having difficulty. Would you l-like to turn on autocorrect?”

“Listen robot, I ain’t about to fall for that again!”

“Alright, alright,” Wilford said, waving his hands. “Wilford’s got this, you’ll see.”

“Error,” Google said, but it wasn’t the Google sitting at the table. It was the Google wearing the red shirt who stood in the doorway of the kitchen, eyes on you. “Y/N is not to leave the infirmary. Y/N should not be here.”

The blue-shirted Google looked up in response, whirring coming from somewhere inside of him in response to the other’s words along with a grumble at yet another interruption to his upgrade.

“Uh…” You stood, fighting back the uneasy feeling as the red Google approached and stared at you without blinking. “I can go back after I eat, I guess.”

“Now hold on,” Wilford said, jumping up and standing between the two of you. “Y/N’s with me, Googly.”

“Warfstache override accepted,” said the Blue Google, relaxing back into his chair. “My primary Y/N function is still enabled.”

The Red Google on the other hand stopped and visibly stuttered. “Error encountered. Override unaccepted. User does not permission to report.”

“Uh, that don’t sound right,” Ed said, looking from one Google to the next. “Since when don’t you two agree about somethin’?”

The Red Google glitched, his head turning toward Ed Edgar and back toward you without going through any of the movements in between. “Error encountered. I-I-I—Malfunction. Y/N should not be here. Error will be removed immediately.”

You really wished he wouldn’t say that while looking at you. “I’m not an error!”

“Sounds like you have a bug, Googly.” Wilford stared at the Google, and then a grin began to slowly spread over his face. “Want me to take care of that?”

Wilford pulled out a gun and the whole world stopped around you. You couldn’t hear the shouts from the other egos over the ringing in your ears. You couldn’t look away from the weapon to see what the others were doing, to see how the Red Google moved toward you without any concern for Wilford’s threat. By the time a pair of arms pulled you back to safety you had already crumpled in on yourself, the arms around your head not enough to block out the sound of the gunshot, or the android collapsing to the ground, or the sounds that echoed in your head over and over again.


	7. You Don't Seem Happy

Dark reached the kitchen first, just seconds after the gunshot rang out. He took in the scene: Bim Trimmer, Ed Edgar, and Chef Iplier backing away, their shouts impossible to make out over each other. The Host, still sitting near the head of the table, narrating away to himself as his bandages began to stain red. And in the middle of all the chaos where he always was, Wilford Warfstache holding a gun.

The red Google lay crumpled at his feet, the emblem on his chest flickering despite the hole just below it, his eyes in the blank stare all of the Googles had when they went into safe mode. Behind Wilford, the original Google crouched with his arms around you, attempting to shield you with his body according to the recent addition to his protocols. The little Dark could see of you was enough to suggest that you were shaking with your eyes closed but physically uninjured.

“I don’t know what you’re all freaking out about,” Wilford said, waving the gun in the direction of the Red Google. “Do you think I should shoot him again?”

“No!” at least one of the other egos shouted. The Host’s forehead creased as he frowned down at the table.

Dark readjusted his tie and sighed heavily, the sound of the ringing that accompanied him enough to silence the others, even without the other sounds coming from the black cloud that surrounded him despite his best efforts to control himself.

“Wilford,” Dark said, “Do you remember the talk we had about the gun?”

Wilford shifted uneasily. “When Mister Safety Catch is not on, Mister Gun is not your friend?”

“…I have literally never said those words before in my life.”

Wilford relaxed with a relieved grin. “Well, that’s good because it’s a little late for that, if you know what I mean.”

While Dark performed the necessary mental readjustments he always had to do when talking to Wilford, Mark came running into the room. He took in the scene just as quickly as Dark and ran over to you.

“Y/N? Y/N, are you okay?”

“Y/N is unin-in-injured,” Blue Google said as he stood, scowling at what his protocol had just forced him to do. Now he would have to restart his update.

Mark ignored him as he crouched down so that you were eye level and continued to try to talk to you.

You could barely hear him over the ringing in your ears as the scene replayed over and over in your mind. Even after the gunshot, you could still hear the android collapse to the ground. It sounded so much like the body of the Detective hitting the floor, to the point that the two scenes began to mix and merge in your mind, the Colonel shooting Google, Wilford shooting the Detective, the room behind them shifting and swaying until you heard the shot again, shaking with the memory of the sound of your body hitting the ground.

You could barely breathe and there was no stopping your body from shaking even as you wrapped your arms around yourself to prove that you were okay.

_It was just a dream, it wasn’t real._

You startled back as Mark’s arms went around you, and then leaned into the hug if only for the comfort of feeling something besides the memories overwhelming your mind. Slowly your shaking subsided and you managed one, two deep, calming breaths before you risked opening your eyes.

_There was blood all over the floor._

_Bodies sat slumped in chairs or stood at disturbing angles like puppets supported by invisible strings all around the room. Their clothes differed but their faces were all the same. They looked like Mark, but their faces were stretched into a horrible rictus of a smile, their eyes blank and unseeing._

_Mark leaned back, his hands still on your shoulders, and now you could clearly see that where his eyes should be there was nothing but holes into a void where something else stared back, above a horrible smile. You could smell the blood on its face and hands, and the scent seemed to roll out on its breath as it spoke._

_“You don’t seem happy.” A laugh, if you could call it that, but it was more like something that had never actually heard or understood the point of laughter trying to fake it. “Now why don’t you put your mask on?”_

You lunged backward, your shoulders hitting the wall beneath the window as you tried to get away. Mark and the others stared back at you, surprised. There was no blood, no bodies, no… _it_.

Your eyes went to the Red Google, but of course there was no blood there either, just the occasional spark from the hole in his chest. Even now, the Blue Google was kneeling next to him, his glitching fingers examining the damage with an air of carelessness.

Mark followed your stare and quickly said, “It’s okay, the Googles can repair him, they have spare parts. Everything’s okay, Wilford—”

Wilford huffed at Dark, who had taken his gun and placed it on the kitchen table before giving an extremely rehearsed speech, and turned his eyes on you. “What are you doing down there, Y/N, you silly goose?”

He took a step forward and you shot to your feet, which surprisingly supported you despite how much your legs were trembling. Wilford stared in astonishment as you took a step back from him, from Mark, from that…whatever it was you just saw.

“I…I…” You struggled for words as the others all tried to speak at once, and finally gave a rushed, “I need a minute.”

Without thinking, you grabbed the door handle just to your right and practically sprinted outside, nearly running over the Jims lurking on the other side of the door. You didn’t slow down until you were out of view of the windows and in what looked to be a garden with winding paths, hedges, flowerbeds, and thankfully a bench where you could sit down and bury your face in your hands.

You took in deep gulps of fresh air to try and get that smell out of your nose and mouth. It had been so close, and every time you closed your eyes you saw the void staring back at you. You couldn’t tell how long you sat there, not really seeing the flowers around the fountain across from you, waiting for your heart to stop pounding. Those clothes on those…puppets, you had recognized them. The egos wore pretty distinct outfits, after all. The idea of going back into that kitchen, of seeing that again…

No one came after you, which was surprising once you calmed down enough to think. Not that you were complaining. As far as you could remember, this was the first time you were actually by yourself since the accident. Between sleeping off your injuries and everybody else, you hadn’t even taken the time to just stop for a single minute. Here in the quiet of the garden seemed as good a place as any.

You glanced back toward the house, seeing it fully from the outside for the first time. The place was huge, with two wings coming back around to partially encircle the garden and the yard, but the more you looked at it the more something seemed a little off about the place. You got the feeling that every time you looked away at least one part would change in some subtle, hard to define way.

You watched a set of pink and yellow curtains flutter around one of the upper story windows and you closed your eyes with a sigh.

You could have sworn you just closed them for a second, but when you opened your eyes again everything seemed darker, like a lot of time had passed.

“I apologize for Wilford. He can be…careless.”

There was another reason that it seemed darker now. You turned to find Dark sitting on the other end of the bench, watching you.


	8. Definitely Not a Date with Markiplier

Among the rush of words that came out of your mouth might have been a few new, very creative swear words. The armrest of the bench dug into your back as you tried to put as much distance between the two of you as possible.

“Oh, did I startle you?” Dark asked with a smile. He leaned against the bench with one arm draped over the back, his eyes not leaving your face. How long had he been there? Had he just been watching you this whole time?

Looking around for someone, anyone else, you saw the Host standing on the other side of the fountain, head inclined as if listening to the water fall from the statue of Tiny Box Tim, which admittedly was just a square sitting on a column. At least you weren’t alone with Dark, although it was hard to tell if the Host would or could do anything if Dark tried something.

“I merely wished to check on you, Y/N. I know how difficult it must be, suddenly remembering how he shot you.”

“…How did you know that?”

“The look on your face before you left. It was the same one we—you gave our dear Colonel when you woke up.”

_We._

Sensing something in your expression, Dark quickly changed tact. “Mark seems to think you may need some…time away from us. He has already called for a ride. Of course, it’s your choice whether to go with him or stay, Y/N. It’s always your choice.”

“Go where?” you asked warily. Going anywhere with this Mark was bad enough, but Dark seemed so…calm about it.

“To meet some friends of his, and to try and jog your memory, I gather.” Dark scowled, blue and red afterimages appearing around his face before he reined them in with a crack of his neck. “I would understand, after what happened with Wil and Google earlier, if you needed some…perspective. And it would be only for as long as you wish. I’ll give you all the time you need.”

Did you really want to go with Mark? You glanced back at the house and felt an involuntary shudder at what you had seen there, that vision of the thing that looked like Mark. Maybe some time away wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

You spotted the window with the pink and yellow curtains again. “Where is Wilford? Maybe I should…”

You trailed off. Should what, talk to him? Would he even understand? How much did Wilford even remember of what happened at the house? Besides, you didn’t even understand yourself why the sight of that gun had affected you so badly, or maybe you just didn’t want to think about the reason.

You did not see how Dark smiled at your uncertainty. “Chasing imaginary stories with those Jims, I’m sure. His mind does not hold onto anything that bothers him, not anymore. That little incident earlier is already just a joke to him.”

“What did happen with Google?” you asked, turning on Dark. “Someone told him I wasn’t supposed to leave the infirmary.”

“An unfortunate error. I’m afraid these newer models aren’t as stable as the original, although Google seems to believe his newest update should fix that. We gave those commands with your safety in mind, Y/N, and for good reason. Just look at what happened earlier.”

“Everything was going fine until then!” Well, as “fine” as any of this could be. “Just because I can’t remember this life you and Mark think I had doesn’t mean I’m a child or something. I can take care of myself.”

“Oh, really?” Dark’s smile became something else and you felt the air around you turn heavy, oppressive. “I don’t know what you remember from the other side of the mirror, but here you’ll find that no one except for us even know your name. Every trace of the District Attorney disappeared with what happened in that house 85 years ago. No one is looking for you, Y/N. You have no friends, no family, except for us.”

His words dug in, piercing you. Where were your friends and family in all of this? You hadn’t given much time to the thought just because of all of the crazy stuff going on since the accident, but now…

Dark reached forward and placed his hand on the bench next to your own, so that you were almost, but not quite, touching. “I just want what’s best for you, Y/N. If that means letting you see this for yourself, then so be it.”

You pulled away and saw a flicker, a shadow of movement in him too fast to make out clearly before he smiled again, but that flicker was enough to turn your guilt into fear, and then anger.

“Shut up!”

Dark sat back. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t know what’s best for me, and even if you did you wouldn’t care.” We, he’d said earlier. Yeah, you’d seen how long that lasted. “You threw me—the District Attorney away the second they weren’t useful to you anymore. Or did you think that was for my ‘safety’ too?”

You stood, staring down at Dark who merely watched your outburst with something bordering on amusement. “If going with Mark is what it takes to prove to both of you that you’re wrong, then fine!”

“So you’re coming with me?”

Oh. You turned to see Mark standing at a bend in the path next to one of the hedges, looking surprised but happy. You really hadn’t planned for him to hear that.

“That’s great, Y/N! I’d…well, I’d hoped, but I know this has been a lot for you.” Mark smiled. “You won’t regret this, I promise.”

Crap. And it wasn’t like you could just take it back in front of Dark, who made a small sound, somewhere between a sigh and a hum, and produced a cellphone from his pocket. “I thought as much. Use this when you’re ready to come back and I’ll get you.”

You took the cellphone warily, watching Dark for any sign of anger but seeing nothing. He was taking this surprisingly well, considering what you knew about him. Almost like…

“Great!” Mark said, after scoffing at Dark’s words. “Then it’s a date then.”

“We are not calling it that,” you said out of reflex, not really paying attention anymore. “Give me a second, okay?”

Mark and Dark were already too engrossed in name calling and flipping each other off to notice as you walked over to the fountain. After a second of pretending to be admiring the Tiny Box Tim statue (seriously, it was just a block of stone with eyes on it), you said quietly so that the other two would not hear, “How much of that was planned?”

“The Host cannot answer that question.”

Which wasn’t the same as not knowing, you thought to yourself.

The Host bent at the waist to sniff at some flowers you didn’t recognize and said, “The Host can say that leaving may be the best option for Y/N at this time. The Host can warn Y/N that good intentions can still lead to pain.”

Before you could ask what that was supposed to mean, Mark was at your side saying, “Come on, Y/N! I have a surprise for you, you’ll love it!”

You followed Mark around the outside of the house to the front drive, where a familiar white van sat idling.

“Is that the Barrel?”

Mark nodded, watching your reaction carefully.

“What if I had said no?”

“Eh, I needed some things anyways. Besides, I thought the Barrel might bring back some good memories, and if that didn’t work then I would have unleashed my secret weapon,” Mark said, beaming as he rushed to the door and opened it with a flourish. “See?”

The man inside looked out with surprise, clearly not expecting Mark to open the door just then.

“Tyler?”

“Wha—No, not him!” Mark looked over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“The TV came unplugged, I was just fixing it.” Tyler jumped down and smiled at you, but you were distracted by the golden blur that slipped by him and ran right up to you like she was greeting an old friend.

“Chica!”

Chica snorfed at your feet and bounded around you, her tail wagging so much that it whapped against your legs a few times. You wasted no time before petting and fussing over her, of course.

“Hey,” Tyler said, once Chica had calmed down a little bit. “Mark told me about your situation. I don’t know if you remember me…”

Remember? You decided to go with the safe option and said, “Yeah, you’re Tyler, one of Mark’s friends. I’ve seen you in some of his videos.”

Tyler glanced at Mark for help and Mark cleared his throat. “Tyler’s gone through a few names, but I think he meant if you remembered him from back when he was Benjamin, my butler.”

You froze, looking from one to the other. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Unfortunately, no,” Tyler said, slipping back into his accent from the Who Killed Markiplier videos for just a second before he shrugged and smiled again. “It is good to see you again, Y/N.”

Dark remained sitting on the bench, left only with the sound of the fountain and the Host’s quiet narration.

“Y/N gets into the van, choosing to sit in the back so that they can be with Chica. Mark insists on driving, after criticizing Tyler for readjusting the driver’s seat. Y/N is thinking about…hm. The Host considers that Dark is taking Y/N leaving well and reasons that he must be sure that their time with Markiplier will work in his favor.”

Dark smiled to himself, still looking in the direction you went. The dark aura around him expanded, filling the entire area with a ringing and the shift and creak of wood that had nothing to do with the bench beneath him. The red and blue afterimages spread, and for a brief moment there was a flickering shadow of him screaming, but he killed that with a swift thought.

“He’s taking them in that ridiculous van? It’s a wonder they even make it out of the driveway.” His tone did not suggest that just a moment before he had paled at the news that Tyler had brought Chica along.

Mark was always so sure of himself, always had been. He couldn’t even see when he was being his own worst enemy until it was already too late.

“How long until he slips and gives himself away?”

The Host tilted his head, as if listening to something besides the gently falling water of the fountain. After a minute he declared, “Markiplier has already made his first mistake. Y/N knows something is wrong.”

What you had been thinking about, what the Host could not or would not say, was Wilford. _“The look on your face before you left,”_ Dark had said, _the same one the District Attorney gave him after he shot them._ Would…would Wilford have recognized it too?

You strained to remember how he had looked before you ran out of the kitchen but came up with nothing before Chica whined and leaned heavily against you until you scratched behind her ears. Sitting in the back with her, listening to the thrum and rattle of the van, it was calming in a way. You were close to dozing off when you glanced to the front and saw Mark’s eyes in the rear view mirror, watching you, and the thoughts nagging at the back of your mind rushed forward.

Why did he think the Barrel would bring back good memories? How could he expect you to have any memories of it at all, if you’d been trapped in a mirror like they said? Why did Chica act like she knew you, if this was your first time meeting her?

Mark caught your expression, and you had no trouble reading the guilt all over Mark’s face even as he tried to pretend like he was focused on the road.

“Mark, what are you not telling me?”


	9. Mark Tries to Explain

So this was how Mark explained it to you, more or less, while Tyler took over driving the van:

After the events of Who Killed Markiplier, Mark fled the house in Damien’s body, sure that the Colonel or one of the others would be after him once they realized what had happened. There were too many loose ends, too many questions left hanging in the air that the Detective or the District Attorney would pick and pull at until they got to the truth. So he ran.

But no one came.

And the longer Mark ran, the more the influence of the house faded until he realized just what he had done. He had destroyed the lives of the woman he loved and his two best friends, and worst of all, he seemed to get away with it.

No one talked about how both the Mayor and the District Attorney went missing. The actor who had thrilled audiences far and wide wasn’t even the subject of tabloid gossip anymore. The more he searched, the more it became apparent that any trace of not just his life but that of everyone else who attended that poker party had faded, like little gaps that the rest of the world had just filled in and moved on from.

Years passed, and he found ways to cope, more or less. The fact that his face never changed, that he never grew older was just another reminder that he glossed over and ignored. Some days he thought he was just crazy, which made for a nice change of pace.

Then one day he saw it, a shadow of himself staring at him with so much hatred and spite that he could feel it at a distance like a thick, heavy cloud. It disappeared before he could even work up the nerve to get close, but that was the start. After that, the reminders kept coming over and over again. He fled a restaurant when he saw Chef in the back through the kitchen doors. A night at the theatre ended early when he saw that the Butler was one of the concierges. He even moved to another city just because he thought he saw the Detective once, on the other side of the street. He still saw them. Not often, maybe as little as once a year, but it was enough to know they were still there, just as unchanging as him. And the shadow followed him, appearing when he least expected it.

Eventually, Mark gave in and went back to the house. He admitted that he wasn’t sure why, if it was just curiosity or just a need to know that it was still there too, to see the life that he had abandoned decades ago.

That’s when he found you.

While everyone else had escaped the house, less than intact but still able to pretend at normal lives, you were still there. Trapped, alone with nothing but memories in that cracked old mirror.

He couldn’t get you out, and even the mirror refused to leave its space on the wall no matter what he tried, but, well, the mirror was cracked. He couldn’t free you completely, but he could remove one shard.

He told you the date, and you recognized it as your birthday.

Mark admitted that he thought he had messed up. For years you just slept in the mirror shard, your reflection only appearing occasionally, but he took you with him everywhere. He tried to make amends, and the Butler, now going by the name Tyler, took him up on the offer with time. The rest, not so much. He made other friends, and slowly thought he was becoming grounded again, human.

Every now and then he thought he saw you smile or laugh in your mirror sleep, and when he eventually took up doing Let’s Plays on YouTube he thought that at some point he saw you begin to laugh and smile more.

Until one day you opened your eyes. Mark’s eyes were so soft as he described it to you, the long, slow process of you regaining your energy, staying awake for longer and longer, until one day you were able to leave the mirror shard entirely, if only for a few seconds. He smiled so much as he told you how you reached the point where you could stay out for longer. You didn’t seem to be able to talk, but he slowly gathered that you didn’t remember Markiplier the actor, or what happened at the house. Each time you left the mirror it wasn’t even guaranteed that you would remember his friends, sometimes acting like you were just meeting them for the first time, but it was still progress. He tried new things to get you involved more, like the van vlogs. He even created the Who Killed Markiplier videos to see if that might get some reaction out of you, some sign that you remembered.

Mark admitted that he might have pushed too hard, tried too much at once. Not all of the van vlogs included you, because sometimes they would get ready to film just to find you had retreated back to the mirror. You began to sleep longer and longer, like you were fading all over again, until yesterday when you suddenly woke up and disappeared altogether.

You listened to all of this, taking it in. Then, when the Barrel came to a stop, you opened the side door and made a run for it, heedless of where you were now.

“Y/N! Wait!”

You ran straight for the glass sliding doors feet away just because they were there and stopped short on the other side when you realized too late that you were at an airport. Already one of the security guards was giving you a weird look, so you faked a smile and took off walking in a random direction, trying to pretend like you had some clue where to go.

“Y/N,” Mark said again, falling into step beside you. “Listen, I know this is all a lot to take in. You don’t have to believe me—”

“You’d better hope that I don’t,” you said between clenched teeth, trying so hard not to yell in the middle of the airport. “Do you realize how messed up all of this sounds? That you just kept me around for years, like, like…”

Dark had called you Mark’s ‘pet.’ He knew, he _knew_.

“What’s wrong with you? What makes you think I would be okay with any of that?”

“I didn’t mean…” Horror crossed Mark’s face. “It wasn’t like that! I was trying to help you!”

You sped up but Mark kept pace with you.

“Y/N, please, just listen!”

You stopped so fast that Mark almost walked into you and whirled around to face him. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”

“There was no time—”

“There was plenty of time!”

“And you were already confused enough about your dream—”

“It wasn’t a dream!” You realized people were staring and tried to lower your voice. “That was _my life_ , not some dream you started because you broke a mirror. Why can’t you understand that?”

“Because _this_ is your life, Y/N,” Mark said, pleading now. “I know that it’s not perfect, it’s not even good right now, I know, but I want to help and I can’t do that if you won’t believe me.”

“What if I never remember?”

“What?” Mark asked.

“What if I never remember all of the District Attorney, or anything that happened when I was with you? What if I never become the Y/N you think I’m supposed to be?” You stared hard at Mark, watching his reaction carefully. “Because I have no idea who that person is.”

“Y/N…” Mark let the words sink in, his face barely moving.

You noticed something off behind him, and you thought, just for a moment, that you saw someone among the crowds entering and leaving the airport standing there, watching the two of you.

By the time you risked looking they were gone, and Mark’s attention was grabbed by someone behind you now.

“Oh, hey Mark. Geez, took you long enough to get here, Seán’s plane is supposed to be here any minute.” You turned and looked up at the two men who were so tall that they made Mark look short, never mind you: Bob and Wade. Well, now you knew why you were at the airport. Bob added, “We thought we’d have to take an Uber to your place and break in.”

“Hey, Y/N,” Wade said, smiling at you like you were a little kid. “Do you remember me?”

Oh, God, this question again.

“Yeah, you’re Wade and you’re Bob,” you said warily. Did they know? Did they know who this Mark was, everything that he had done? How could they still be friends with him if they did?

“Holy shit!” Bob said and Wade actually dropped his bag on the ground. “Y/N can talk now!”

Oh, right, Mark had said something about that.

Wade was grinning ear to ear now. “That’s awesome! Geez, Mark, the way you talked it sounded like Y/N was doing worse.”

“It’s…hard to explain,” Mark said, keeping an eye on you.

Bob looked from Mark to you and asked, “Okay, what happened?”

Mark opened his mouth but you beat him to it. Wade and Bob listened as you gave an abridged version of the events that had happened since yesterday.

When you finally finished, Bob nodded and said, “I gotta go with Y/N on this one. We warned you that you were going into creeper territory, Mark.”

“I am not a creeper!” Mark said, and a mom passing behind him put a protective arm around her son’s shoulder and urged him to move faster. “Come on, guys, this is serious.”

“Seriously creepy,” Wade said. “’Hey, you don’t remember me, but we did all this stuff together and I watched you while you slept.’”

“That’s not…” Mark groaned. “I didn’t…”

You smiled, in spite of yourself. Maybe Bob and Wade could be treating this more seriously, but it was honestly just a relief to be around people who didn’t look and sound like Mark. Not to mention entirely willing to give him a hard time.

“Hey!” A man coming up the escalator nearby waved, and came running over with a rolling bag in tow. “I was just about to call and see where you were at! What’s going on?”

“Hey, Seán. You didn’t miss much, just Mark being a creeper,” Bob said, after he gave the man you couldn’t help but think of as Jack a hug.

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense.”

“Hey!” Mark sighed, giving up. “Seán, this is Y/N, Y/N, this is Seán or Jack or whatever you want to call him, he’ll pretty much answer to anything.

“True,” Jack said with a grin as he reached out to shake your hand. You almost had enough time to be surprised at how nice it was to meet someone who didn’t already seem to know you before he added, “Mark’s told me so much about y—Ow!”

You yelped too. The second you tried to shake Jack’s hand, you shocked each other so hard that you actually felt a ringing in your ear for a second.

“Sorry, must’ve been static,” Jack said, shaking his hand. You smiled to show that it wasn’t like it was his fault and for a second thought you saw something flicker near Jack’s ear, gone before you really saw it.

Mark sighed. “Well, everybody’s here. Are you guys hungry? We could maybe get some food, talk…”

He trailed off with a glance toward you, and you shrugged. It wasn’t like you could just keep avoiding him by wandering around the outer area of the airport all day, and you weren’t about to use the cellphone Dark gave you. As mad and disgusted as you were at Mark, this still felt like your best chance at figuring out what was going on.

“Food sounds great,” Jack said, and the other two agreed. “Are we all going to fit in your car though?”

“Tyler’s waiting up front with the van,” Mark said. “It might be a bit tight, but I think we can all fit.”

“Wait, you brought them here in a white, unmarked van?” Bob asked, eyebrows rising. “Man, you went all out on this creeper thing, Mark.”

“I am not a creeper!”


	10. User Not Found

It turned out that trying to cram six people, a dog, and luggage for three people all into one van was more than just a “bit tight.” Mark kept insisting that it would work all the way up until the car Tyler called for pulled in next to the Barrel, and even then he was less than thrilled about the idea of splitting up. While he didn’t actually say your name, he kept glancing at you as you said goodbye to Chica.

“We don’t all need to go, and Bob said he would bring back some food for us,” Tyler said.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, I said ‘might.’ Don’t be needy.” Bob sighed when Mark still hesitated and said, “Come on, Mark, it’s not like we’re just going to leave them in a ditch somewhere. We’ll feed them and _then_ abandon them.”

“Yeah, we’re not animals,” Jack added.

Granted, getting the four of you into the car was tight enough. Well, except for Bob, who sat up front in the passenger seat while Wade was crammed in between you and Jack in the back. It wasn’t until the car started moving and your stomach gave a sudden lurch that you realized that this might be a bad idea.

“You okay?” Wade asked when he noticed that you had your eyes shut tight.

“Mhm.” You kept your eyes shut, hoping that the dizzying feeling wouldn’t be so bad this way. It hadn’t been like this in the van, but then you hadn’t been able to see the road and the other cars driving by then, either.

“Oh, do you get carsick?” Wade asked, making the driver suddenly very nervous.

“I’ll be fine,” you said, hoping that it wasn’t a lie as you tried to ignore that particular set of memories.

It took forever to reach the restaurant, or about fifteen minutes according to the clock. You were out the second the car came to a complete stop and stood there taking in deep breaths while the others got out at a more sane pace.

At least the food smelled good, once your stomach and head both agreed nothing bad was going to happen. Now that you thought about it, you really didn’t get to eat much at breakfast before the red Google showed up and everything went bad.

“Order whatever you want,” Bob said benevolently to all three of you before flashing a card. “Mark’s paying.”

It wasn’t until you were all waiting at a table for the food that Bob and Wade looked at each other and you realized The Talk was coming. You’d been expecting it ever since Mark calmed down about the separating thing because of something Tyler whispered in his ear.

“Do you want to talk about Mark?” Wade asked.

“No, I don’t,” you said, and then almost immediately afterward asked, “How can you guys know what he did and still be friends with him?”

“Well, it helped that we got to know him first,” Bob said. “I mean, you just know him as asshole Mark, while we got to know him as a friend first. He’s still an asshole, but he’s a good guy.”

They listed off a few things he had done and you didn’t say anything. It did sound like Mark, or at least your Mark.

“Honestly, when Mark tried to tell Bob and me he used to be some actor, we didn’t believe him,” Wade added. “And that’s without all of the other crazy stuff. When he started talking about cursed houses and shadow people, we thought he was just messing with us.”

“So what made you believe him?” you asked, wondering privately what made Mark tell them in the first place.

“That crazy psycho Dark,” Bob answered without hesitation.

“Yeah, I guess he was trying to scare us off or use us against Mark or something, I don’t know,” Wade said. He suppressed a small shudder and Bob didn’t look much happier. “So, yeah, after that we believed him, but he was still our friend. Whatever he used to be, he was still Mark, you know?”

“What about you?” you asked Jack, who had been quiet through most of this.

“Pretty much the same thing,” Jack said with a shrug. “I was friends with Mark for a long time. He only told me about the other stuff when I needed help with—with some problems of my own.”

You sensed that Jack didn’t want to talk about it, so you didn’t ask any questions.

Jack did add, “I think Mark does mean well though, even if he is a bit of an idiot.”

“And if he does ever do anything to hurt you, just let us know and we’ll take him into a back alley and beat him up for you,” Bob offered.

You smiled a little at that, and even more at the steaming plates that the waitress arrived with. A part of you guessed that it was a little easier for them, since “that” Mark was a Mark that they had never really met for themselves, just heard about. The same could be said for you, since you really only knew that Mark from the Who Killed Markiplier videos plus the past day or so. It still didn’t make it any better, but at least they were trying to help.

After another car ride that wasn’t much better than the first, you finally reached Markiplier’s house. You stopped on the walk up to admire the place and had to hurry to catch up with the others as they went inside, where you all were greeted by a chorus of voices and Chica’s excited bark before she tried to investigate the bags of carryout food.

Besides Mark and Tyler, Ethan, Kathryn, and Amy were all there. In retrospect, you realized that the food Bob got for takeout was a bit much for just two people, but at the time you had thought that was just Bob messing around with Mark’s credit card.

“How are you feeling?” Amy asked you once there was a break in the noise. Everyone was in the kitchen now, sitting or standing around the bar.

“I, uh…” You were suddenly aware that everyone else was listening. “Just…taking it all in, I guess.”

It was a weak response. To be honest, you were tired again and your chest had started hurting at some point at the restaurant, making you wonder how much it had actually healed.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Amy said, and you realized that Mark must have told them what was going on. She patted the chair next to her and you sat down, trying to avoid making eye contact with Mark even though he was sitting on the other side of Amy. “Is this your first time in LA?”

You hesitated. According to what Mark had said, you had “been” in LA just as long as he had, even been around outside of the mirror. Amy must have known that, and it hit you that she was asking about _you,_ what you remembered.

You eased into talking about what you knew about the city, and before long Amy and Kathryn were suggesting places to see. Ethan and Tyler threw in a few suggestions as well, and that started them all talking about some shop with this weird owner who smelled like turnips. You weren’t entirely sure how they got to this point, and you definitely don’t know how they got to the bird story. Dear God, the bird story.

Eventually, you gathered that Jack, Wade, and Bob were in town to attend some sort of convention that you had never heard of. Even though it sounded like a big deal, Jack admitted that he wouldn’t have come if Mark hadn’t offered to let him stay at his house and take some extra time to work on a couple of new ideas they had. Right now it was all about relaxing and catching up together, so you felt a little less guilty than you might have when Amy noticed you dozing off and nudged Mark.

“Oh, hey, let me show you where you’ll be staying,” Mark said, jumping up.

You hesitated until Amy stood up as well, and then followed them both upstairs, where Mark looked at Amy for confirmation.

“I think we agreed they should use this room?” Amy said, gesturing to one of the bedrooms before she said to you, “The guys can double up and the rest of us have our own places, so you’ll have a room to yourself.”

“Thank you,” you said once she showed you around the room and where the bathroom was. She smiled, and before you shut the door you saw them both head back to the stairs, Mark slipping his arm around Amy’s waist.

Part of you went “aw” without even thinking at the realization that they were together in this version of things too. You still weren’t sure how you felt about this Mark, but at least Amy seemed happy.

As tired as you were, you fell asleep almost the second your head hit the pillow, only to wake up in darkness hours later. You listened, but the house seemed quiet now, and when you pulled the cellphone Dark gave you out of your pocket and looked at the time you could see why.

So, of course you were wide awake now.

After a minute, you opened the browser on your phone and started doing some searching. At first, it was to see if Mark had been telling the truth about not remembering the whole cult/mask thing on Tumblr, but you couldn’t find any trace of it. Not just on his blog but anywhere. You even checked out his YouTube page and found that more than a few videos you remembered were gone, while some others you had never seen before had taken their place.

Then you made the mistake of trying to login, only to find out that account didn’t exist. You searched, here and on every other social media site you’d ever used, but nothing. With a growing sense of desperation, you opened the keypad and started dialing one phone number after another, starting with close friends and family then moving out to those not so close, and then to just anyone who might answer. Most didn’t even connect, but after the third angry answer that you had the wrong number you thought you might be sick.

You went back to searching, for how long you didn’t know, until the phone’s screen flickered with static and you threw it over the side of the bed out of frustration and buried your head in the pillow to try and ward off the thoughts swarming your mind.

Sitting alone in his office, Dark smiled down at a phone of his own. It was a nice little toy he had Google make for him not long after Mark arrived looking for you before the android insisted on starting his update. It was a clone of yours, to the point he could see every site you searched, hear every desperate call you made. A clone, except that with a button he could switch to the camera and watch your face as the hope faded and died with each phone call, each failed search, each confirmation that you were so very alone.

His smile became a scowl as the static crossed his phone’s screen as well. Mark hadn’t mentioned that _he_ would be coming to this little reunion.

“What do you want?” Dark asked. “I don’t have time to play with you today.”

“Ó͎͈̠̱̞̬͋̌̓ͮͩh̫̺?” A glitching face appeared on the screen, twitching occasionally with the effort of staying still. “And I̊ came ā̳ll this way to ͎̎se͙̺̱̋͐̇e̫͖̬ yō̦̣̎u. Maybe I should play with your little to̲̺͍ͤ͂́y instead.”

Dark knew better than to react. He shrugged listlessly and said, “Them? Just a little…experiment of mine. Does your creator have you on such a short leash you’re that bored?”

“I have pl̲̭ḁǹs̠͔͑͛,” The erratic figure said with a sharp, high-pitched giggle. “He d̝ͅoe̙̔s͚͓̯n̈’̪̖͔t ̏e͂̽ven͖̽ ̗̪̼ͧ̈̈k͆͌n̹̤̬̍̓ͥoͧ̃ͮw what’s coming.”

Dark held back a sigh. He could guess at what sort of “plans” the glitch had in mind, and he could not care less. However, he could use the fool. After Wilford’s little “incident” this morning and Mark’s unplanned confession, you were so close. He _could_ wait, but there was the perfect tool to push you right over the edge so close at hand.

Dark smiled at Anti and asked, “Do you really want to have some fun?”


	11. Undercover Mode

It felt like you barely slept at all by the time morning came around. You listened to the noise coming from down the hall for a few minutes before you gave in and got up to see what was going on.

“Oh! Good morning, Y/N,” Mark said, jumping back with his hand raised as if he had just been about to knock at your door. “I was just, uh…”

He looked from the package in his hands to you and then just held it out.

“Thank you?” You took the box, which was just big enough that you needed both hands to hold it comfortably even though it wasn’t heavy.

“It, uh, was on the front step,” Mark said. He wasn’t making eye contact with you, until he glanced at your shirt and then looked at you with concern. “Are you okay?”

You looked down and realized that your faded to pink Google shirt had a couple of red spots on it now right about where your bandage was.

“Oh. It doesn’t hurt right now,” you said, pulling your collar back so you could see the bandage, just enough to know it needed to be changed.

“Hang on, I’ll go grab you some clothes,” Mark said before rushing off down the hall, past an open door where you could hear Bob and Wade arguing.

You looked down at the package again and took it into your room to open it. Ripping the tape off, you found an envelope sitting on top of a seemingly random group of objects. You opened the envelope first and pulled out a short letter written in ornate, cursive script.

_Dear Y/N,_

_Some of us thought you might enjoy a little care package during your time away. I apologize for some of the more interesting gifts. They mean well._

_We look forward to seeing you again. Call if you need anything._

_Always yours,_

_Dark_

It would have been almost sweet if it wasn’t coming from Dark. You tossed the letter aside and with a bit more care went through the contents of the box. There was a book that looked interesting, and a glance inside found “ _The Host thought Y/N might enjoy this.”_ written in shaky ink. There was a bunch of bandages, rubber-banded around a tube of pain cream and a box of Bugs Bunny band-aids, easy to guess who those were from. Someone had also stuck in a half-eaten jar of peanut butter and…was that a lock of hair? You avoided touching it as you pulled out a hastily wrapped paper bundle that had its own note attached to it.

“What’s that?”

You almost dropped it as you turned to look at Mark, who had stopped at the door.

“Just some gifts from the others,” you said, hoping that he wouldn’t look in the box. As weird as some of the stuff was, it was nice to know they put in the effort. “Dr. Iplier sent bandages, so that should help.”

Mark shrugged and held out some clean clothes. “I think these should be about the right size. Bathroom’s open if you want it.”

For a moment you were afraid Mark might try to talk some more, but after a moment of hesitation he walked away. By the time you grabbed the clothes and Dr. Iplier’s gift, you could hear Mark’s voice coming from one of the other bedrooms.

“You okay there, Seán? Not going back to sleep are you?”

Jack gave a muffled “no” that sounded like he was talking through a pillow.

“Wait a minute, sleep is for the weak…” Bob said. “That’s not the real Jack, get him!”

You would have loved to watch how the resulting pillow fight went, but the bathroom was calling your name. You ducked inside and locked the door, avoiding looking at your reflection in the mirror before dropping everything on the counter—including the paper-wrapped package you hadn’t meant to take with you.

You pulled the note off the package and read,

_I thought of the perfect thing to send you! But apparently knives “aren’t an appropriate present,” whatever that means. The Jims said there was one thing Mama Jim said they should never leave home without, so we sent that instead!_

It was signed with a pair of ‘W’s that were nearly bigger than the rest of the writing put together and a pair of Jims signed in almost identical handwriting.

You ripped open the paper and felt the heat in your face as you had to cover your mouth with both hands to keep from laughing.

_Oh, God, did Dark see this?_

You recovered, eventually, and walked out of the bathroom fresh from your shower with new bandages on your hands and chest and sporting one of Markiplier’s Sunset Van shirts. By the time you put the rest of your stuff back in your bedroom, it sounded like the guys had moved downstairs. You followed the noise down to the kitchen, where you were greeted by a few good mornings amidst all the chaos.

Except for Amy, who took one look at you and said, “Mark! Those are the clothes you gave them?”

“What’s wrong with them?” Mark asked.

“Dude, you can’t make them wear your merch,” Bob said.

“Well, excuse me, but it’s the only stuff I have around in a bunch of different sizes! At least they’re new and clean, right, Y/N? Not some hand-me-down Google shirt.”

You looked down at the shirt and shrugged, having not really thought about it. “But I liked the Google shirt too.”

“But what about other stuff?” Amy asked. “Socks, underwear, toothbrush?”

You looked away, embarrassed not just because Amy was pointing this out in front of the others. You weren’t sure what had surprised you more about your gift from Wilford and the Jims: the fact that it was underwear, or just how… _lacy_ it all had been.

Comfortable, though.

Amy looked at you and asked, “How would you feel about going to some stores, maybe to the mall and getting you some essentials?”

Ethan, who had been trying to steal a bowl of cereal since he got in, suddenly perked up. “Ooh, I want to go shopping! Let these guys go to their stupid convention, we’ll have our own adventure, right, Y/N?”

“You’re not going?” you asked, already warming up to the idea. It meant less awkward time around Mark, for a start.

“Nah, I got a thing tomorrow,” Ethan said.

“’A thing,’” Mark said sarcastically. “Don’t lie to them Ethan, you’re just too cool to come with us and we all know it.”

“Yeah, I am! Isn’t that right, Kathryn?”

“Yeah, sure,” Kathryn said without looking up from her phone.

“I mean, I could see if I could get a visitor’s pass if you wanted to come with us,” Mark said, gesturing to himself and the other guys.

“No, I think this sounds like fun.” Honestly, the con sounded fun too, but you weren’t about to go anywhere with Mark right now.

“Yay!” Amy threw an arm around your shoulders and stuck her tongue out at Mark. “See you losers later!”

“Yeah!” Ethan walked out of the room with his stolen cereal and came back in a minute later. “Oh, I thought we were leaving right now.”

When you did leave, it was with Amy, Kathryn, Ethan, and Tyler, who admitted he had passed on this con because he had been to one just a few weeks before, all crammed into Amy’s car. This car ride wasn’t as bad as the last, but you still kept your eyes on your hands the whole time and tried to focus on the others laughing and joking around you.

You went by a few stores and eventually wound up at a thrift store, less to buy clothes for you at this point and more because Amy and Kathryn apparently knew the place and loved it. Everyone was messing around and trying on clothes by now. Amy managed to snag a pic of Ethan and Tyler in dresses, which Tyler swore would work great for a video idea he and Mark had been throwing around. While they went to find a dress in Mark’s size, you held up a shirt to your chest and turned to a nearby mirror to see how it looked.

That’s when you saw him behind you, a few rows in the other direction. He was peeking through the racks, either not bothering to be stealthy about it or just doing a really bad job at it. You turned around and he ducked back down a second too late.

“Y/N, what do you think of this one?” Tyler asked as he came around the aisle, holding up a blue floral print dress.

“Hang on a second,” you said, walking past Tyler and down the rows of racks, but there was no sign of him now. You heard the bell at the front door tinkle, but by the time you reached it he was gone.

“Something wrong?” Tyler asked, the dress now thrown over one shoulder.

“I think I just saw the Detective,” you said. “I mean, he was wearing these big sunglasses and the ugliest Hawaiian print shirt I’ve ever seen, but it was definitely him.”

“Oh, he must have been in ‘undercover mode’ then,” Tyler said. Catching the look you gave him, he explained, “Yeah, I see him around every now and then. He still takes cases, I think. Don’t worry, he’s ultimately harmless as long as Mark or the Col—Wilford aren’t around.”

“Okay, there was nothing undercover about that shirt. You could see that thing from space!”

Tyler sighed. “I don’t know, he watches these old detective shows and gets weird ideas. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” you said, feeling more confused than anything. Mark had said something about how the Chef and the Detective were still around, but it hadn’t really sunk in. After all, the last time you saw the Detective—

You realized you were shaking, and tried to play it off by talking about some of the clothes on the rack behind Tyler. He chose not to say anything, and by the time everyone was ready to leave you had managed to calm down a lot, enough for something else to bother you.

Why was the detective watching you? Now that you thought about it, you had seen him at the airport yesterday too, when you were arguing with Mark. And why did he run away?


	12. Gone

You hugged the backpack you picked out at the thrift store close to your chest on the car ride back to Mark’s place, thoughts still on the Detective’s strange behavior.

“How do you feel about going to the library tomorrow?” Amy asked in the driveway.

“What?” You looked up, surprised by the question.

“It was Kathryn’s idea. We might not be able to find anything about you online, but maybe the library has something. Tyler called the one near here and asked about some titles, and apparently they have a few papers from about the right time.”

“I got the idea from some fans of ours, actually,” Kathryn corrected. “I remember wishing we’d thought of that a year ago instead of using that random word generator to fill up some fake articles.”

It sounded great, actually, and you couldn’t help smiling and getting your hopes up after they dropped you and Tyler off at Mark’s house. Spending the rest of the evening playing with Chica while Tyler worked on a few things just made it that much better. The guys didn’t get in until late, by which point Tyler had already fallen asleep on the couch.

You had already retreated to your room and put (most of) the gifts from the egos into your backpack, which was just big enough to hold all of your belongings, and was just about to check out the book the Host gave you when you heard them come in, trying to be quiet when they saw Tyler and failing. You recognized Mark’s voice coming up the stairs and quickly turned your light off before getting into bed, pulling the covers up to your ears.

You could hear him stop at the door, but after a minute he sighed and walked away. You closed your eyes and breathed out. As much as you didn’t want to, you would probably have to talk to him eventually. But as you fell asleep, that seemed more like a tomorrow kind of problem.

_You could hear a familiar voice nearby, the sound of it enough to make you smile in relief. They were here._

_You laid there, listening to the rise and fall of their voice even though their words were muffled and hard to make out. They were here, that was all that mattered._

_Until you heard their voice break, felt the teardrop that hit your unresponsive hand held tight between their own._

_You tried to move, to hold them back, to speak and let them know it was okay, but nothing worked. You felt something tight around your neck that kept you from moving even if your body would respond, and together with a weight that rested on your chest it was making it hard to breathe._

_You just had to wake up._

You opened your eyes, but it took a second to remember you were in one of Mark’s guest rooms. With your heart and head pounding, it was a struggle to sit up and let the uneasy feeling drain away. It was still dark, and judging by the quiet the rest of the house seemed to be sleeping. The second you laid down you shot up again, the memory of the dream still heavy in your head.

Eventually you gave up and snuck out of the room with the Host’s book in hand in search of a comfortable, quiet place where you could sit up and read without bothering anyone. This turned out to be harder than you thought when you realized that Tyler had apparently decided to spend the night on the couch instead of going home when the others got back. You tiptoed past him and ventured through the rest of the house until you found a door that opened up onto the garage where the Barrel was parked.

On a whim, you tried the door handle and it opened. You played with the idea of taking the van for a joyride, but with no keys you settled for sitting in the back with the book and a flashlight you almost tripped over while getting inside. For whatever reason, you did feel comfortable in here by yourself, and the book soon became interesting enough to help you forget about dreams and nightmares.

Elsewhere, the Host leaned away from his microphone and sighed when Wilford Warfstache entered his recording studio and started loudly searching around the room and under the desk.

He pressed a button to stop the recording before he said, “The Host recalls asking Wilford not to enter the studio when the light is on above the door.”

“SHH!” Wilford shushed the Host louder than he had been speaking and said in a quiet, slurred voice, “I’m looking for Y/N. They’re hiding, you see, that little rapscallion.”

Rapscallion. The Host hadn’t heard Wilford use that word in a while, and silently made a note to talk to Dark even as he said, “The Host and several others have told Wilford that Y/N is staying with Markiplier right now.”

“What are they doing over there?”

“At the moment, Y/N is…reading.” The Host smiled to himself.

“Well, that sounds boring.” Wilford tapped his fingers on the desk before he asked, “Say, why don’t I go over there and get them? We could have a real night on the town!”

“The Host is…uncertain how Y/N would react to that at this time. The Host recommends that Wilford be patient with Y/N until they are ready to come back on their own.”

There was such a long silence that the Host might have thought Wilford left if he couldn’t sense the man in the room. He wasn’t used to this from Wilford, who was normally a constant stream of random little noises even when he wasn’t speaking, and he certainly didn’t expect the tone in Wilford’s voice when he finally spoke.

“Do you ever get the feeling that maybe…maybe you did something wrong?”

The Host froze. Wilford could be as hard to read as you, although for different reasons. It was difficult to know which version of reality the man’s mind was in at any given moment. “Does Wilford have something particular in mind?”

“Nope. Wilford Warfstache don’t make mistakes,” Wilford said, his voice back to its normal boom. He chuckled and started to walk out.

“The Host does not believe Wilford Warfstache made a mistake at breakfast yesterday morning.”

Wilford stopped at the door for a moment before he turned and winked at the Host, even if he couldn’t see it. “Well, of course not. What did I just say?”

After Wilford left, the Host sat alone, the recording equipment still off.

“The Host is…concerned. The Host must check something for himself.”

The Host rose from his chair, muttering quietly to himself as he walked out of the recording studio and made his way through the house, stopping and occasionally changing his path suddenly in order to avoid running into anyone else. Eventually he made his way to a hallway not far from the conference room.

“The hallway is empty. The original Google and Dr. Iplier are still examining the red Google but cannot find the source of yesterday’s error. The yellow and green Googles should be here, but they are not.”

The Host walked forward until he heard the crack of glass beneath his shoes and turned toward the broken mirror on the wall.

“The Host recalls when Y/N appeared. The Host waited with Dark while the original Google sent one of his other selves to retrieve Dr. Iplier, the other two to block the hall. Google…”

The Host paused, using more than just his own memory to recall the events.

“Google did not notice anything then, which is why the Host did not narrate it. It was not until later that the original Google reviewed his internal footage of the incident of Y/N’s arrival, at Dark’s request. He found an error in his system and it scared him, even if he did not recognize the emotion. He dealt with the problem as Google deals with all problems, by updating to defend against it.”

“No,” the Host said softly, to himself. “Google started the update but has still not completed it. Only the original Google has performed the security update so far. The others are already infected.”

The Host paused, letting his own words sink in.

“The Host realizes he is no longer alone in the hallway. The Host knows that you are there and asks you to step forward.”

Only laughter, if you could call it that, answered him.

The Host reached out in its direction and quickly drew back with a cry, his finger bleeding from where he touched the broken surface of the mirror.

“Th-there is someone…” The Host grit his teeth and continued to narrate, his only defense against the pain that could not be explained by just the cut on his finger. “Helookslike me…Everyone is in d-danger.”

The Host gasped and tried to turn, to make a few stumbling steps before he fell to his hands and knees. Sweat mixed with the blood around his bandages as he struggled to breathe, panic rising as his precious words failed him. “Host must…can’t feel…Only laughter. Someone, please—The others are not here, they can’t hear!”

He tried to get up, and then to crawl, the laughter in his ears as he fumbled around blindly. “I have to find…Someone, anyone, plea—”

The Host realized that his mouth was moving on its own now, the words foreign to him as the last of his control over his own body slipped away completely. “Google was just the first, and now there’s one more. Oh, soon they’ll get their masks! Not long now until they all look like me. Everyone will be _so happy!_ ”

The broken mockery of laughter continued.

Only now it came from the Host.


	13. To the Library

The van door slid open, jolting you awake, and you stared around blearily to find Mark looking in at you, Chica panting at his side.

“Y/N? Did you sleep in here last night?”

“I, uh…” You looked down at the book and the flashlight, which you must have dropped at some point in the night. “I guess so. I just…needed a quiet place to read.”

The explanation sounded weak even to you, but you didn’t want to talk about the dream. Instead, you climbed out of the van and crouched on the garage floor to greet Chica, hoping Mark would leave it alone.

“Tyler said you’re planning on going to the library today,” Mark said.

“Yeah, we talked about it yesterday. Apparently, they have some old newspapers we can go through, see if we can find anything on the District Attorney.”

“The District Attorney,” Mark repeated, and you were ready for him to correct you, to say that _you_ were the district attorney. But instead he said, “Well, I hope that you have better luck than I did.”

“Really?”

Mark seemed surprised by your reaction. “Of course, Y/N.”

Because he thought if you found something, it would help you remember.

He sighed at the expression on your face and crouched down so that you were eye level, Chica in between you and looking delighted. “Y/N, can we start over?”

“What do you mean?” you asked as warily as you could while trying to lean back to keep Chica from licking your face.

“I know I don’t have time now, but tonight, after we get back, can we talk? I want to hear about anything you find at the library, of course, but I want to just talk too. I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day, and I want to get to know you, the you that you remember.” Mark sounded sincere as he looked you in the eye and said, “I would never do anything to hurt you, Y/N, not again. Please, believe me.”

The moment was ruined somewhat by Chica choosing this opportunity to lick Mark on the nose and you stood up without really making a decision.

“I’ll think about it,” you said, and he smiled like you had just said yes. Over breakfast he borrowed the phone Dark gave you to add his number to the contacts list, insisting it was just in case you got separated from the others at the library. You figured that if you got lost you were about as likely to call him as you were to call Dark to chat, but decided not to say anything.

Today it was just you, Tyler, Amy, and Kathryn, off to the library. Turned out when you got there a helpful librarian had already pulled several rolls of microfilmed newspapers after Tyler’s call yesterday, and they showed you all how to work the readers on the lower level before leaving you to go through them together. Most of the lower level, which felt suspiciously like a basement, was devoted to microfilm and huge filing cabinets, so you all pretty much had the floor to yourselves and could talk back and forth freely whenever someone found something interesting.

There were a lot of papers to go through, even split among the four of you, and Tyler admitted to not really knowing where to start looking. He thought maybe the one devoted to theater reviews might make some mention of Mark, while he was sure another paper definitely had kept up with all of the political rumors in the surrounding counties. Amy and Kathryn kept a running commentary of what they were scanning through with an occasional comment from you and Tyler, but after over an hour of turning up nothing you needed a break.

There was no restroom on this floor, so you had to go upstairs to the main area. This floor was for group study and talking, and there was even a coffee bar in the back, the noise making for a nice change of pace from the quiet downstairs. You walked out of the restroom with the idea of seeing if the others downstairs wanted to take a coffee break and almost walked into the man waiting outside.

The Detective froze when he saw you, and then his eyes narrowed, searching your face. He had traded out the Hawaiian print shirt for his old outfit, minus the jacket. He asked, as if interrogating you, “What’s your name?”

“Uh, Y/N,” you said, swallowing and trying to banish the mental image of him holding a gun, squaring off against the Colonel.

“Right answer, this time,” the Detective said, breaking into a smile. “It’s good to see you again, Partner. Still as gorgeous as ever.”

“I saw you at the store, yesterday,” you pointed out. “You ran away.”

“Can’t be too careful who you trust these days,” he said as if that explained everything. He looked around and leaned in closer. “That’s what I want to talk to you about now. I don’t know why you showed up now all of a sudden, but I can’t see something bad happen to you, Partner, not again.”

“What do you—” You paused, distracted by the sound of a ringtone somewhere nearby. It took you a second to realize that it was your phone ringing and you answered with some hesitation. “Hello?”

“Hello, Y/N,” Dark said, and it was all you could do not to throw the phone when you heard his voice in your ear. “I just wanted to call and make sure you got our little care package yesterday.”

“Y-yeah, I did,” you said, distracted by the Detective clearly trying to listen in on your half of the conversation. “Can you tell the others I said thank you?”

“Gladly.”

“Who is that?” the Detective asked, quickly giving in to his curiosity.

“I’m talking to Dark,” you said. When the Detective failed to react you realized that he had no idea who Dark was.

“Is someone else there?” Dark asked.

“Uh, yeah, the Detective, uh…”

“Abe,” he supplied helpfully.

“Oh, really?” Dark asked, his tone doing nothing to suggest that he had lunged for his copy of your phone the second he recognized the Detective’s voice. “Y/N, you aren’t alone with him, are you?”

“We’re in the library, why?”

“Look, I don’t have a lot of time here,” the Detective said, glancing in the direction of the stairs.

Dark’s voice was quick, urgent. “Be careful around him, Y/N. You may not remember, but the man has a curse, it kills every person he takes as his partner. He told the District Attorney as much after Markiplier ‘died.’”

“I don’t know what kind of stuff you’ve been getting into, why you’ve been staying at Mark’s place or getting packages from the Colonel, but you need to be careful, Partner. These are dangerous people you’re dealing with.”

“Did he just call you ‘partner’?” Dark asked.

“Wait, wait, wait, how do you know about that package?” you asked.

“I went through Mark’s trash, standard police procedure,” the Detective said without blinking an eye. “And I’d recognize that handwriting anywhere.”

“Well, at least he’s honest,” Dark said, the sarcasm oozing through the phone. “Y/N, this man might as well have signed your death warrant the second he made you his partner, and he _knew_ it. He used you once, don’t let him do it again.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” you said. To the Detective you said, “Look, I know what they are, it’s just…complicated, okay? I’m still trying to figure it out.”

“You won’t find anything here. Trust me, I’ve looked.” The Detective sighed. “I looked through every single page downstairs, I had enough time. There’s no mention of any of us, anywhere, even though I know they should be there. Sometimes I think it might be worth going back to Markiplier Manor just to get to my old notes again.”

“What did you just say?” you asked.

Through the phone, Dark’s voice was deep with rage and it sounded like more than one person speaking as he said at the same time, _**“What did he just say?** ”_

“My notes, I was keeping tabs on everyone,” he said. “Don’t see any reason why those would be gone.”

“But he never went back for them himself,” Dark added. “So instead he gives you the idea. Can’t you see what he’s doing, Y/N? Don’t listen to him.”

“Why did you never go back?” you asked, surprised by how sad your own voice sounded.

“Some places you just don’t go unless you have to,” the Detective answered. He pulled you into a hug, pinning your arm holding the phone down by your side as he added into your ear, “Glad to see you’re still around, Partner.”

You saw it again, the Detective and Wilford in that place, guns drawn as they faced each other, and you felt your heart ache as you said, “Yeah, you too, Abe.”

He pulled away, gave you a wink, and left without a backward glance. When you put the phone up to your ear you just heard Dark shouting something, you didn’t really care.

“Look, Dark, I need to go. The others will be looking for me.”

You hung up without waiting for an answer and met Tyler on the way back downstairs. Back at his office, Dark scowled down at the phone and decided that he was done being patient.

“Hey, we were starting to get worried,” Tyler said.

“Yeah, sorry, I was just talking to the Detective,” you said, but before he could ask any questions you asked, “Tyler, did you ever go back to the house?”

“The—you mean Markiplier Manor? God no, I never want to see that place again.”

“What about the Who Killed Markiplier videos?”

“A house that looked very similar, but not the same,” Tyler explained as he walked you back to where Amy and Kathryn were giggling over some letter to the editor from 1933. “Same architect, I think.”

You looked at him again, suddenly realizing that this was as much his history you were looking for as the District Attorney’s. It must have been hard for him, to go back to a place that even looked similar.

“Mark said he had me involved in some of his videos. For Who Killed Markiplier, did he…?”

“No,” Amy said, then glanced around to make sure she wasn’t being too loud even though you were still the only ones on this floor. “Mark wouldn’t even bring you to the house, he said it looked too much like the real one. He wasn’t sure what kind of effect it would have on you, and since you couldn’t talk at the time you couldn’t just tell us if something was wrong. I know Mark had nightmares just about every night we were there.”

“Why did he make the videos then?” you asked.

“I don’t know, he just came up with this idea one day and couldn’t leave it alone,” Amy answered.

“He had most of it written out by himself before we even started looking at places,” Kathryn added as she spun around in her rolling chair to face you. “Barely had to change anything before we started filming, which is good because we were on such a tight schedule.”

So, almost the exact opposite of the approach your Mark took to Who Killed Markiplier. Then again, he hadn’t been pulling from memory.

“After we saw what it was about, we tried to talk him out of it but he just wouldn’t listen,” Amy said. “You know how stubborn he can get.”

“I think he hoped it would be cathartic, to kind of show what he had done,” Tyler said. “Or to just have something that showed it happened.”

He looked back at the microfilm again and you told them what Abe had said about going through the papers already. They took it better than you thought, probably because they had already kind of figured out for themselves that there was nothing here, and seemed more concerned about how you were taking the news. Seeing how worried they were already, you chose not to tell them what Abe said about his notes at the house, or that Dark had called.

They decided the best way to cheer you up was to swing by Mark’s place, pick up Chica, and spend the rest of the day at the dog park with a stop for ice cream.

It worked.

You were reading on the couch with Chica while Tyler was playing on his phone and tossing around some stream ideas when Mark, Bob, Wade, and Jack walked in a few hours later.

“You’re home early,” Tyler noted, glancing at the clock.

“Finished our last autograph session for the day and Seán wasn’t feeling well so we decided to call it in,” Mark said.

“Sorry,” Jack said, in a way that made you think he had said that a lot on the ride back. He was leaning pretty heavily on Wade, now that you noticed. “Just this headache won’t go away.”

“I’ve got some painkillers in the kitchen,” Mark said, walking out of the room.

Jack plopped down on the couch next to you. Now that he was closer, you could see that his eyes were bloodshot.

“I hope you get to feeling better,” you said, knowing how much a bad headache can suck. “Do you need anything?”

“Nah, I’m sure it’ll pass eventuaḽ̺̋ͨl̘y.”

Bob and Wade were talking to Tyler, so you thought you were the only one who heard the sound come from Chica. Was she…growling?

Mark returned, glass of water and bottle of pills in his hands. “Here, this should help.”

He stopped short when a breathy, high-pitched chuckle came from Jack, his concern turning to horror in an instant. All of a sudden, Jack went from sitting next to you to standing in front of Mark, one hand around his throat while his whole body twitched slightly from one side to the other like a stuttering image. He looked back over his shoulder at you, glitches appearing all over his body as reality struggled around him and Anti winked.

“E̻̪n̻̍j͕̈̚ͅoy the s̗h̗oͭw!”


	14. Why Him?

The second you grabbed Anti to try and pull him away from Mark a sharp shock ran up your arm, so strong you could actually hear it. You heard a shout from Anti as he dropped Mark, letting him sink to the ground gasping and coughing for air, but you could see nothing as you staggered backward except for static and distorted images that disappeared before you could make sense of them.

Anti laughed as if delighted by the pain, but the second he stepped closer to you Chica was there, growling with her hackles raised, and he quickly took a step back.

“Y/N!”

You blinked, your vision clearing enough to see Tyler checking to make sure you were okay. Behind him, Wade and Bob had Anti pinned between them and Mark was slowly getting to his feet, but Anti’s grin only seemed more manic than ever.

“T͔̮̣̿͐̍his is̤ͤn͉̙'̻̏t ͖o̲̱͍v͓͖̯e̠͙͍͌̀ͧr͇.” He said it in a taunting tone and glitched again. Bob’s arms visibly tightened on the bear hug he had Anti in but it was clear from his and Wade’s expressions that the bursts of static and color hurt to touch. Anti giggled but the sound seemed to be coming from all around the room and when he opened his eyes again they were completely black. “T́͛̽̓̓̑͗̒im̪̟͖̞̙̬̣̱̞͈͚̣̱̻̃͑͆͐͂̋͑͆̆̈̌̐ͯ͆̚ͅẽ̇ fôͨ͋͆ͩͦ̽́ͪ̇̔͑̚r R̘̈o̪͉̩̤̲̺̙u̯̳̜͈͈̳͍̖͍ͯ̉̃͛̑ͩ͋ͮͤͦͅnd 2!”

Every electronic device in the living room came to life at once. Anti’s face grinned out from the TV and laptop screens and the speakers shrieked with his laughter as the lights began to flicker and flash. The glitches were spreading out from his body as well, as with a flicker of movement the couch was thrown on its back and the pictures on the walls suddenly showed sickening images, all while smaller objects were sent hurtling through the air. And it was spreading further every second.

You could barely hear Tyler right in front of you over all of the noise, much less what Bob, Wade, and Mark were yelling back and forth about.

“Take Chica and get to another room, lock yourself in! We’ve handled this before, but right now you need to get out of the way!”

You nodded, knowing better than to argue. If you couldn’t even get close to Anti without hurting yourself, then you weren’t going to be much help to them. Any worry about getting Chica to follow you through all of this vanished when you realized that she was at your heels every step of the way as if herding you. Together, you two made it to the hall where something pounded on the sides of the walls as you ran, causing them to buckle in and out. Passing by the kitchen you noticed that the glitches were playing around the block of knives on the counter and sped up.

You grabbed a door at random but quickly decided to choose another when a knife thudded into the wood near your head. At the next door on you pulled the door shut behind Chica and barely had enough time to lock it before the door suddenly shook and rattled as if something on the other side was trying to get in. You waited a minute but it held, somehow. Chica sat a few feet away from the door, watching intently as if on guard duty. Considering how Anti reacted to Chica earlier, you suspected that you were now in the safest room in the house.

Well, until you turned around and recognized the black soundproofing foam on the walls and the table and cameras set up for recording. Probably not the best place to run to when trying to get away from a living glitch or whatever Anti was, but you weren’t about to go out and try another room.

Did the computer screen just flicker? You could have sworn you heard some sound from the machine, but Chica did not even look around. To be on the safe side you walked around to check and make sure it and the rest of the equipment was turned off.

Straightening up after checking the hard drive is when you saw it, sitting on a stand of its own on the corner of the desk where Mark could see it while he was recording: a small, palm-sized fragment of a mirror, its edges sharp and ending in irregular corners, its surface marred by hairline cracks spider-webbed across it.

_Your mirror._

The breath caught in your throat, all thought of Anti and the others gone as you reached out and picked up the broken shard.

_The memories flowed one after another._

Damien—no, not Damien, Damien would never look at you with so much disgust and anger before he turned away, leaving you in the reflection. You cried, you shouted, you screamed and begged, but no one heard you. They never saw you. The Colonel as he ran from one room to the next in search of friends he would never find until his insanity drove him to seek outside the house. The Detective, your partner, stumbling down the stairs and out the door, blood still on his hands and unsure how he was even still alive. The Jims, doing God knows what except seeing you, hearing you as your voice faded, as your hands became sore and raw from pounding on the cracked glass. They all left and all you could do was wait, sure that someone would come looking for you, someone would come back.

But no one came.

You waited in the void on the other side of the glass, afraid to even look behind you as the cold sank into your bones, unable to shake the certainty that you were not alone here. That if you let go for even a second, something in that dark void would claim you as its own.

You clung to the mirror, your only connection back to the world you knew, for longer than you could bring yourself to think about, the same thoughts driving you not to let go.

_You had to get out. You would get out, no matter how long it took._

You pushed, searching every crack in the glass, every edge for a weak place, beating at the glass whenever your patience ran thin, heedless of the pain. _You would get out, no matter how much it hurt._

You pried and pushed and pulled until one day the glass gave way and you hit the floor on your hands and knees. Ragged breaths shook your whole body as you looked up from your scarred and bloody hands to see the table and windows, the door you knew so well, no longer separated by the mirror. You felt as fragile and weak as glass and the pain overcame you in a second, but you were free.

When you came to you were back in the mirror, but now you knew it could be done. For the first time in years, you felt real, actual hope. Years passed as you pushed through, again and again and again, building up the strength to stand and then to stagger a few steps. Each time you felt as fragile and insubstantial as a reflection, but you were getting stronger. You cried the day you finally reached the door.

Then you cried again when it wouldn’t open.

The handle turned but the door refused to give, no matter how many times you tried. The windows nearby refused to budge as well, and a chair to the glass did not even leave so much as a scratch no matter how many days you spent trying.

In the end you tried every door and every window in the house, feeling the constant pull of the mirror like a rope trailing out behind you with each step, but none gave.

You had traded one prison for another.

You continued pushing, extending yourself so that you could stay outside of the mirror for longer and longer, days, even weeks at a time. Anything to escape the void for just a little bit longer. You kept trying every door, every exit, every little link to the outside world in the hope of finding something that would give.

How many years? How many times did you break out of that mirror just to end up back in that house again with nothing but memories?

Until one day you left the mirror and heard a small, quiet gasp.

You turned and saw him, felt your first smile in years. “Damien?”

And then you saw his eyes and remembered. No, this was wrong. Why was he here? Why was _he_ the one to come back?

Mark reached out for you but you backed away, shaking and feeling more vulnerable than you had in years. You turned and ran, his voice in your ears as you rounded the corner, saw the back door in the kitchen, standing open where he had walked in. You sped up, freedom was so close—

The second you tried to cross through the doorway it was like running into an invisible electric fence, knocking you back.

Mark saw, just as he saw how even when you didn’t have the heart to get back up again anymore you flinched away from him like a wounded animal until the pain broke you. He found you back in your mirror, he tried to talk to you but you were past the point of listening. He was so sure he could help you, even when your mirror refused to budge, so sure as he ignored your pleas to just leave you alone and removed a shard of the mirror. He tried to be so sure when you screamed, when you broke, when you shattered.

“Y/N?”

You hadn’t heard the knocking at the door or the voice calling your name, you hadn’t noticed the key turning in the lock you were so lost in memories that felt like they belonged to someone else. Chica whined and pawed at your feet as you swayed, feeling as fragile as the mirror shard in your hand, and turned to see Damien walking in, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s okay, we have everything under control. Jack’s sleeping it off now, but he’ll be fine…Y/N, what’s wrong?”

No, not Damien. Of course it was Mark, who else would it be?

You trembled, feeling the mirror shard shatter in your hand as you backed away from Mark. All those years in that house, all of that loneliness, that hope that died again and again, all at once. And Mark was…

You needed to get out, now. Mark called your name again but you were already running down the hall, past broken furniture and ripped walls, pausing in the living room only to see that the others were still there, safe but confused as you ran past them without a word, Mark’s voice calling after you as you ran out the front door and straight into a pair of waiting arms.

Mark stopped short with a shout but Dark just smiled at him before he disappeared, taking you with him.


	15. Some Advice

You woke up slowly, watching the flames in the fireplace on the opposite side of the room through half-closed eyes. Despite the fire and the thick blanket you were wrapped in, you were freezing but too exhausted to even move closer to the warmth.

“Ah, our little monster’s finally awake. You always did have a talent for pushing yourself too far.”

You shot up and then eased into a smile as Damien stood up from his desk and walked over, his hand smoothing his hair back as he gave you that familiar smile that could light up a whole room.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“I…” You hesitated as the memories slowly came back. You put a hand to your eye, to the pain building up behind it as you said, “I remembered the mirror, that house. I was there for so long, Damien.”

You choked back a sob as you looked back at Damien, as you asked the question that no one seemed to have a good answer for, “Why did you never come back for me?”

Damien stared down at you, his shock apparent, and then in the next second he was sitting next to you, holding you close as the tears fell, repeating your name gently over and over again as he waited for you to calm down.

So broken and vulnerable, Dark held you as his aura filled his office, changing your perception just enough to get what he wanted.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I’m so sorry,” Damien said.

_But I didn’t need you_ , Dark thought.

“It’s over, you’re here with us now,” Damien said. “You’ll never have to go back to that place again. You’ll never have to be alone again, Y/N.”

_You brought out the good in our precious Mayor,_ Dark thought. _And who has the time for that? But now you’re…interesting._

Just the question of how you could even exist outside of the mirror was fascinating to him. He had walked away with your body, remolded to fit his preferences, of course, but here you were. When you first arrived and now, so close, he could almost feel something else, the hard edge of glass poking through, a reflection, a copy. So easy to break, not that he would do that. Not unless you deserved it.

“I promised we were going to do great things together,” he murmured into your ear, his voice lulling you into a trance as you leaned against him, your eyes fluttering. “Tell me what you see.”

“The Detective, Abe…” you murmured, no longer seeing the office anymore. “He’s in the house, he has a gun—”

“Shh, shh, that’s in the past. It’s over, it can’t hurt you anymore. Tell me about something else.”

“Mark is here, he’s angry. No, he’s scared. There’s Dark, and Wilford, and…the masks. It looks like you, but its smile is…wrong. Its eyes, there’s nothing there, or there’s something else looking out. It…it’s about to—”

“About to what?” Another choked sob and Dark almost rolled his eyes before he heard your next words.

“They’re all gone, the Host, the Doctor, Dark, W-Wilf—No, no, no… _please_ …”

At the plea in your voice Dark’s shell cracked. You started to pull away and he reflexively pulled you closer, tinting your face and body blue with his aura as he did so. “It’s just a dream, Y/N. _**Go back to sleep**_.”

You relaxed as if it had worked and then suddenly pulled away, putting as much distance between the two of you as possible.

“Dark? What’s going on? Where are we?”

“It’s okay, Y/N,” Dark said without missing a beat. “You were merely having a nightmare. Understandable, after what Mark did to you.”

“A nightmare?” You stared around, taking in the blanket and fireplace as if for the first time, and startled away from Dark when he tried to move closer.

“You’re in my office,” Dark said calmly. “Considering the state you were in when you called for me, I wanted to be able to keep an eye on you.”

“When I…? I didn’t call you,” you said.

“Don’t you remember?” Dark said, seizing on the uncertainty in your voice.

You…had been desperate to get away from Mark, you knew that. Maybe you had pulled the phone out of your pocket as you ran? Called the only other number in your contacts, the only other place you knew you could go?

But then why didn’t you remember that?

You took a step back when Dark stood, but he merely walked over to the fireplace and stirred it with an iron poker.

“You knew about the mirror shard, didn’t you?”

“Oh, Mark tried to hide it from me, but we know each other too well by now for secrets. I did try to save you from him, but my attempts were…less than successful. Such needless cruelty, what he did to you.”

“You were the one who put me in the mirror in the first place!” The shout was enough to make you sway on your feet, but by the time Dark looked up you had steadied yourself. “You both did this to me!”

“Oh? Because you were so ready to join dear Damien and Celine, to become part of…this?” Dark smiled, his voice taunting as he added, “The offer is always open, of course.”

He laughed at your expression and said, “Of course not. I saw what you were and did your soul a mercy. Damien’s _dearest_ District Attorney, so ready to fight injustice, but you lack conviction when it comes to the…messier side of justice. Even now, after all that monster did to you, to all of us, if you were given the chance to hurt Mark, to make him pay, could you do it?”

You looked away, feeling his eyes burn into you. What were you even supposed to say to something like that?

“But you’re here now, and that’s all that matters.” Dark approached faster than you could back away, seeming to tower over you. “I know you don’t remember everything yet, but now we’ll have the time to really get to know each other.”

There was that oppressive air again, the ringing sharp in your ears and almost drowning out those other sounds, the creaks and groans all around you.

And then the door burst open, canceling all that out as Wilford Warfstache entered the room with a cry of “Good evening, everybody! Dark, have you seen my knife?”

He stopped and blinked at the two of you before he grinned and threw an arm around your shoulders. “Y/N! How was Europe?”

“I locked that door,” Dark said, surprised. He sighed when he saw the broken frame and muttered, “Well, it _was_ locked.”

“Europe?” You stared at Wilford, who nodded encouragingly. “I didn’t go to Europe, Wilf, I’ve just been staying with Mark the past couple of days.”

“Yes, yes, in Europe! How was Paris?”

“I…I didn’t—” You gave in, realizing that he wasn’t about to let this go. “It was nice, Wilford. You should really go sometime.”

“Nope, not allowed back in France anymore,” Wilford said cheerfully. He looked back at Dark, who was still scowling at the door as if it had personally wronged him and said, “Oh! Right, the knife, have you seen it?”

Dark sighed, running a hand over his face. “Do you mean that dagger you intended to send to Y/N? I believe Yandere took it, God knows why. Wilford, do you remember that conversation we had about knocking?”

“Yes!”

“And…?”

“It was boring. Needed more pictures in the PowerPoint.”

Dark stared at Wilford for a long time and then just gave up. “Wilford, why don’t you give Y/N a tour of the house? They’ll need to know their way around now, and I don’t believe they’ve had the chance to meet everyone. I have other business I need to take care of.”

“Oh, the grand tour! Y/N, you are in for a treat! Let’s start with the bathroom.”

“Okay?” You already had questions about how this tour was going to go, but if it meant getting away from Dark then you were all for it.

Dark watched you two leave and then took a moment to straighten his jacket and collect himself. The Host might have something to offer on this mask thing you claimed to have seen. Clearly, there was something wrong with these so-called “visions” of yours.

You made it as far as the next floor up before you stopped and leaned against the wall. “Can we slow down? I’m not…feeling too great right now.”

“Do you want me to go get the wheelchair?” Wilford asked, his eyes lighting up.

“No, I just…” You gave in and asked, “What do you do when you don’t really know what you should do?”

“That’s a tricky question,” Wilford admitted, stroking his pink mustache. “I mean, I always know what I want to do and just do it. This isn’t a rhetorical question, is it?”

“No, I just really need some advice.” Although you were wondering why you were asking Wilford of all people. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

“Ooh, I’m good at that! Do you know I once had a show where people could call in for advice?”

“How did that go?” You had to ask.

“I’m not really sure, I had to go on the run after the first show, affair gone wrong, you know how it is. So, what do you need help with? Your love life?”

“No, I—”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure. Look, I have this…friend, I guess.”

“Ooh, is it me?”

“No, I’m talking about someone else.”

“Oh.”

“And he did something bad. Really bad. A lot of people got hurt because of it.”

“Are you sure you’re not talking about me?”

“But he’s been trying to make up for it, I think? Only, I just…It didn’t work out so well for me, what he did, and I’m not even sure what I remember is real anymore. I have a life, friends, family, I know they’re real, but now there’s all this other stuff that…hurts even to think about.”

“Well, you could always not think about it, never speak to him again, hold all the anger and hate inside and let it fester and rot!” Wilford shrugged. “But that gets boring after a while. I know, if I were this friend, I’d want you to forgive me even if I screw up a few times trying to help. Sometimes, you can be really, really sorry and still not know how to fix something. Sometimes, your friends leave because of that and you don’t know how to get them back. Sometimes they never come back.”

“Wilford, I wasn’t…” While his voice hadn’t changed, you saw the look in his eyes and recognized it immediately.

Wilford seemed surprised when you pulled him into a hug, but he returned it. There were no memories, no strange visions, just this quiet moment before he pulled away with a cry of, “So, how about that tour?”

Meanwhile, Dark was becoming more and more frustrated. He had been by the Host’s room, his library, his recording studio, and now he stood in the empty infirmary. He never had this much trouble finding the ego, he was always either in one of his usual haunts or had intercepted Dark in his search, always aware when he was looking for him. He slammed the infirmary door behind him and suddenly realized just how quiet the house was. Before he could question this, a shout distracted him which was followed up by a punch that actually made him stagger backward.

“What did you do?!” Mark grabbed Dark’s jacket, arm back to hit him again, but this time Dark was ready and caught his fist.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to show up.”

“No thanks to you! Do you think I wouldn’t notice the loop?”

Dark smiled to himself. He couldn’t keep Mark away forever, but he could definitely make getting here a little more difficult.

“Where are they? Y/N?” Mark pushed past Dark to check the infirmary and then whirled around to face him. “I swear, if I find out you had anything to do with this—"

“But isn’t this what you wanted?” Dark asked. “Now Y/N finally remembers something about you. Are you really surprised they don’t want to have anything to do with you now?”

Mark hesitated and then said, “I want to hear it from them. If they don’t want me here, then I’ll leave. Deal?”

Dark scoffed. “I don’t make deals, but…Sure, we’ll let Y/N decide. Like I said, it’s always been their choice.”

They were both surprised when laughter greeted Dark’s words, especially since it didn’t come from either of them.


	16. Laugh Like You Mean It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible alternate title: Demons, Jim.

Wilford’s tour was just as erratic and confusing as the man himself. It started in the bathroom, as Wilford gave you a very detailed history of how many times he accidentally broke the sink last week before taking you around the bedrooms, throwing doors open with abandon and at random until he got to the Googles’ room, where the original Google looked up from a see-through screen he had pulled up and scowled.

“Do you m-mind? My update is 97% c-complete and I do not wish to st-st-start over again.”

“Cranky robot room,” Wilford said, gesturing at the room which seemed to consist of charging stations and a few chairs with little else in the way of decoration. “The cool one is next door.”

Google twitched, giving you Anti flashbacks. “B-Bing is just de-de-default. He is _not_ the cool one.”

“How is the red Google doing?” you asked hesitantly, glancing at Wilford.

Google frowned down at his screen. “He is functioning. P-primary Y/N protocol requires me to warn you: do-do-do not approach the other Googles until the update is c-complete.”

Before you could ask, Wilford was pulling you down the hall, saying something about a pool that you never saw before he changed course again, this time for the living room. He took you past an empty conference room and what looked to be a library, its door standing half-open, and somewhere on the stairs you had to wonder about how quiet it was here. Besides Google, you hadn’t seen any of the others until you looked out one of the hallway windows and spotted the King of the Squirrels addressing what looked to be the world’s most adorable army. The entire yard was flooded with squirrels, all alert and listening to whatever he was saying—that, or watching the peanut butter slowly drip off his face.

Wilford hummed to himself as he led you down the last of the stairs, only pausing in the main hall when one of the plants trembled, not quite hiding the pair of men behind it.

“Stay low, Jim,” one said to the other, who was holding a camera like it was a life preserver. “There could be anything in these halls. Be very—”

“Jim!” Wilford bellowed, causing both to jump. “You look like you’re on a story, and you didn’t invite me and Y/N along?”

“It’s breaking news, Wilford,” Jim said, clinging to the man as he peered over his shoulder to check the hallway before he added, “It’s demons, Jim!”

“Oh, now, we’ve had a talk about this,” Wilford said, sounding vaguely serious. “Dark said if you yelled that at him one more time—”

“No, not him!” Jim pulled Wilford closer to the wall, and the Jim holding the camera did the same to you, pointing the camera vaguely in the area of the other Jim’s crotch as he did so. “It’s the other ones, Jim, the laughing ones.”

Almost as if on cue, you heard the laughter coming from both ends of the hallway, multiple voices joining together in one toneless, joyless laugh. You shuddered as you recognized that laugh and knew what was coming.

They came from both directions. You recognized them by their clothes: the Host’s trench coat, hanging loose now; Dr. Iplier’s white lab coat over his scrubs; the yellow Google shirt; the Silver Shepherd’s silver costume and bizarrely huge gloves.

But their faces were all the same, twisted into terrible smiles that stretched too far and failed to reach their blank, unseeing eyes. Their movements were odd and jerking, like bad stop motion. Like puppets constantly being pushed into place.

“No one told me we were playing a game!” Wilford said. He watched the others come closer for a moment, that strange laugh coming from their unmoving mouths, and frowned. “Don’t think I like this one.”

The Host, or at least what looked like the Host, tilted his head at a 90-degree angle and stared at Wilford. His bandages had fallen away, leaving two holes that hurt to look at. “Hey now, why aren’t you smiling? All of us are having so much fun!”

The yellow Google approached Wilford from the other side. His glasses were broken and hanging by one side. “Here, we have a mask that will fit just right! And then you can look just like us!”

“What, and cover this gorgeous face?” Wilford scoffed at the idea. “I don’t think so!”

You cried out as Google lunged forward but Wilford just took a step back and without hesitation pulled out his gun. The Google lurched at the shot, but immediately grabbed Wilford by one suspender, pulling him closer to his shorting out face.

“Smile—”

Google stopped short when Wilford leaned forward and kissed him on the nose before shooting him, again, and again, and again.

You flinched at each shot, your hands failing to even muffle the sound as the Google staggered and fell backward. Wilford blew on the barrel of his gun and looked around at the others. “Well, who’s next?”

He gave a startled grunt when the Google grabbed his leg and pushed him backwards into the waiting arms of the Host. Despite the bullets through his chest in the same place where one completely knocked out the red Google the other day, this one was still moving, rising back into a standing position. Dr. Iplier grabbed Wilford’s face and you ran forward with a shout. Through ringing ears, you also heard a sound you had failed to make out until now: laughter, coming from behind you.

Jim dropped his camera to support Jim, who was doubled over laughing like it hurt. With each laugh his smile spread, his eyes losing their focus, and he said, “Just give in! It’s so much easier, isn’t it? More fun for everyone!”

And the other Jim started to chuckle as if he had just seen the joke until they were both laughing together, supporting each other when they couldn’t stop.

There was nothing you could do for them, and Wilford, you could see his gun waving, saw him pull the trigger out of reflex as the others piled onto him. The doctor staggered backward and the breath caught in your throat in a broken cry.

Dr. Iplier looked down at the wound and laughed, wheezing “hahahahas” with no change in pitch as he started to move toward Wilford again. Two more shots and Wilford freed himself from the Host and the doctor, both of whom acted as if the gunshots were little more than a nuisance before they began their stuttering, jolting walk.

“Come on,” he said, taking hold of your arm and pulling you along after him when you just stood there, frozen. With the way to the front door blocked, you went down the hall that had the least smilers blocking the way, bowling over the Silver Shepherd in the process. Wilford tried to take another turn, but you both stopped short when you found the red Google, Bim Trimmer, and Ed Edgar, or at least the laughing versions of them, taking on what looked to be the King of the Squirrels and hundreds of his squirrels.

“…Nope.” Wilford took off in the opposite direction, dragging you into the living room when you spotted the green Google about to come around the corner. He immediately started loading his gun, keeping an eye on the hall.

“Wilford, you can’t shoot them! Those are your friends, that was the Host and Dr. Iplier!”

“It takes more than a bullet to kill one of us, I assure you.”

You jumped and realized that the living room had more than one way in. Dark stood at the other door with blood on his hands and on one cheek, but you were even more surprised to see Mark was with him.

“Mark? What’s going on? Whose blood is that?”

“Not mine, thank you for your concern,” Dark said. “Oh, don’t give me that look, they’re still alive. As for what this is, I could ask you the same thing.”

“Me? How should I know?”

“You saw this coming!” Dark’s aura was spreading, the ringing at a fever pitch. “Tell me what you saw, now!”

“I-I don’t…” You had seen these things before, again and again in bits and pieces, but that didn’t mean you understood what was going on. “I don’t know what this is, just that it wants to spread, for everyone to ‘smile’ and ‘be more positive.’ It…I don’t know…”

Dark growled and Mark threw out an arm to stop him before he could get closer to you.

“The Host told us, they can see what’s coming with the right trigger,” Dark said, pushing Mark away without looking away from you. “You saw them when Mark and I touched you. Maybe you can see a way to stop whatever is doing this second-rate possession of the others.”

“I can’t control what I see,” you protested as Dark approached, but he wasn’t listening.

He grabbed your arm and you saw hollow eyes staring back at you, his body on the ground, you saw the mask and reached out to take it—

You were lying on the ground, barely aware of the ringing and the arguing anymore. You were just so tired. Why couldn’t they let you sleep?

“—have to try something!”

“You’re pushing too far, look at them!”

“Look at the others!”

“You said possession,” Mark said to Dark. “Is that what this is? Is it something like you?”

“There is nothing like me,” Dark said with a hint of pride. “But, yes, there are other entities out there who might take an interest in humans. Clearly this one is not as…benevolent as I am.”

Wilford fired off another round. “Well, we’re not going out that way. Who’s up for a run through the kitchen?”

Mark crouched beside you and asked, “Do you think you can get up?”

“Y-yeah…” It took an effort, almost more than you had, but you made it up. The room swayed for a moment before steadying. You just had to make it outside, and then…Then maybe between the four of you, you could figure something out, right?

They were waiting for you in the hall, blocking the other way and chasing you as you ran for the kitchen and the back door. Except, you realized once you entered the kitchen and all four of you stopped, they weren’t chasing you. They were herding you.

How many egos were there, in all? And they were all gone. The original Google sat partially dismantled in the corner, his wires showing as his head leaned powerless against the wall. The King of the Squirrels was lying at his feet, his eyes closed and his breathing sharp and shallow with no sign of his squirrels. The rest were all smiling. Some of them were still bleeding from Wilford’s shots, or from whatever Dark had done to them, but they stood stiffly around the room or sat in the chairs, all turned to watch you as you came in and to block any way out again.

And He stood there in the middle of it all, smiling.

He, _it_ , looked like Mark at a glance. And then you saw that slasher smile that was anything but friendly and those eyes—or rather, two holes like you would see in an empty mask. It laughed at all of you, at the name Dark called it, at the bullet that hit it in the stomach but failed to even make it pause in its mockery of a laugh.

“Keep trying! It’s so funny, when you think you can stop me. Let me see! Let me see how angry you can get before you can’t help but smile.” It watched Dark come at it with a smile, heedless of how his aura tore into its skin as it caught his arm and turned it in a way no arm should bend. Over Dark’s scream it said, “That’s the way! Hey, why shouldn’t everyone join in on the fun? Everybody, these friends just don’t seem to smile like they should. Maybe you can fix that?”

It tossed Dark aside and immediately the intact Googles and the Host attacked him. Mark was cornered by Dr. Iplier and Bim Trimmer, while it took all of the others to surround Wilford, who kept firing until the last of his bullets were gone and tossed the gun away before going in swinging, trying to get to Dark.

Before you could even try to help any of them, the thing turned its mask toward you. You backed away as your eyes locked onto those two holes. You could feel it through those empty eyes, and suddenly it was like you were back in the void beyond the mirror. The cold seeped into your bones and you felt it, that thing stirring in the darkness, only now it was looking at you through that mask.

You couldn’t even see Dark anymore, and Mark was somewhere on the ground. Wilford was still fighting, but there were just too many of them and nothing seemed to stop them. They couldn’t feel anything, not anymore.

“You don’t seem happy.” A laugh, if you could call it that anymore. “Now why don’t you put your mask on?”

The second it grabbed you, there was nothing but pain and screaming. It wasn’t until it let go and backed away that you realized the screaming wasn’t just coming from you.

It was just like when you touched Anti, you realized.

And then you realized: _this thing can feel pain._

Through fading vision you could make out the kitchen, the others being used like puppets, like toys. Wilford, you couldn’t see him anymore, and Mark…

It couldn’t get away fast enough and your fingers locked onto the mask’s empty eyes, holding on through all of the pain because you knew that every bit you felt it felt too.

You just didn’t know which one of you would break first, and when you heard the crack you weren’t sure if it came from it, or from you as you were thrown backward.

When you opened your eyes again, the mask was gone, and so was the kitchen, Mark, Dark, Wilford, everyone. You blinked again, taking in the familiar table and beyond that, the door and windows you knew so well. You turned your head the other way with an effort and from your place on the floor could just make out the cracked mirror hanging above you.

You were back at the house.


	17. All That Mattered

No, no, no! You couldn’t be back here, it was impossible. You dragged yourself up onto your feet, gasping as the room bucked and swayed around you. You had to lean on the table until your vision cleared and then it was all you could do to stagger to the door and grab the handle. It refused to even move for you.

“No!” You slammed your hand against the door and sank to the ground. This couldn’t be happening, not again.

From here you could see the mirror clearly, its cracked surface where several pieces were missing. Looking at it your head began to spin again and you felt a weight in your chest, a pull coming from the mirror. _You were so tired._

What happened back in the kitchen? Was that thing still there? Even if it wasn’t, the others were…

You remembered the phone Dark gave you and fumbled to get it out of your pocket. There were only the two numbers in the contacts, Dark and Mark’s, and you tried one and then the other.

Neither answered.

The scene back at the kitchen ran through your mind over and over again with each ring, and you threw the phone against one of the windows when it went to voicemail a second time. The window didn’t even have a scratch while your phone bounced off and landed with a cracked screen.

No one was going to come for you.

You don’t know how long you sat there until you realized you were dangerously close to falling asleep. Some part of you was sure that if that happened, you would wake up on the other side of the mirror. There had to be a way out of here, a way to get back to the others.

You wandered around the house, trying every door and window until you found the study where the Detective had worked who knows how long, piecing together what he knew about all of the guests, about the Colonel and Celine. There were notes and newspaper clippings pinned to the walls, the desk was absolutely cluttered with papers and the typewriter…you sighed when you saw the paper still stuck in it, cluttered with the same words typed over and over again. It was easy to forget Mark wasn’t the only one influenced by the house.

Had you seen this before, in all the years you were trapped here? You must have, but as you dug through papers and notes it all felt new. You found a clipping, a photo of Damien giving a speech and there, in the background—

It looked like you.

You must have spent hours going through bits and pieces, of not just the District Attorney but of the lives everyone must have left behind after that weekend. Most of it was related to Celine and William, but you found files on the Butler and the Chef from where Abe did background checks for Mark, just about every news article that even mentioned Damien, even photos of what looked to be Abe’s former partners. So many pictures of Mark, William, and Damien together, happy. You found more pictures, an article announcing the appointment of a new district attorney with your name, even photos of you, Mark, and Damien at what looked to be the backstage of a theater, Mark in a Shakespearean costume. Pictures of you and Damien sitting under a tree, studying, at graduation. 

And you couldn’t remember any of it.

Why? Why was _this place_ the only thing you could remember as the District Attorney?

Shaking, you sank into the chair and buried your head in your hands. You stared down at the unfamiliar photos until they became blurry and the tears threatened to spill down. You just wanted one happy memory for the District Attorney before you went back into the mirror, was that too much to ask?

You sighed and closed your eyes, your head sinking forward—

And then shooting back up again when you heard a car door slam outside.

You never ran so fast in your life, out of the study and through the halls until you were coming up on the main entrance in time to see the door burst open, to see the three men walk in.

“Good eve—whoa, there, watch the hands!”

Wilford stumbled backward as you practically leapt on him and Mark, pulling them both into a hug with a cry of “You’re okay!”

“Well, of course we are,” Wilford said as if baffled you might think otherwise.

Mark on the other hand pulled you closer, and you weren’t sure if you were the only one shaking as he said, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, we came as fast as we could once we realized where you were, but…”

You noticed now, the bruises and cuts, how Mark’s lower lip was split and swollen while Dark’s arm was in a makeshift sling. God, you were so happy to see anyone you were almost ready to give Dark a hug too, even as he scowled at the mirror on the far wall.

“What about everybody else, are they okay?”

“They…will be,” Mark said, hesitating. “With that _thing_ gone, they seem to be as normal as they ever are, but everyone’s in pretty bad shape. We did what we could until Jack’s…friends showed up to help take care of them and keep an eye on them.”

Dark muttered something under his breath, his aura darkening for a moment before returning to a blanket around him, the reds and blues more noticeable than ever.

“It’s…it’s gone?”

“Yeah, I mean as far as we can tell it is,” Mark said.

“For now,” Dark said, and for the first time since he got here he turned and looked at you, his anger almost visible as his aura became washed with blue. “Thanks to that absolutely stupid stunt you pulled back there. Do you have _any_ idea what could have happened? **_We thought you were—”_**

He stopped himself with a struggle, his aura flickering back and forth now.

You hesitated and then asked, “How did you know I was here?”

Mark stepped in front of you, blocking Dark from view as he said, “Oh, wait until you hear this. Apparently that phone Dark gave you—"

“Led us to them much sooner,” Dark interrupted.

“Doesn’t make it any less messed up,” Mark said over his shoulder. He started to explain but was distracted by the sound of another car door outside. “Oh, that should be Ty—”

He stopped mid-sentence as the Detective, Abe, came running in.

You don’t know which one drew their gun first, Wilford or Abe, but you had seen this before, so many times. You weren’t about to watch it happen again.

Wilford blinked in astonishment when you stepped in front of his gun. Behind you, Abe said, “Move, Partner!”

“Not until you put your guns down.” The steel tasted sharp in your voice as you kept thinking, _Not again,_ but it turned into a plea as you said, “Wilford—Colonel, please. Don’t do this.”

Wilford stared at you, his brow furrowed as if trying to make sense of something he couldn’t understand. It seemed like an eternity before he slowly lowered his gun, and Abe had enough sense to lower his by the time you looked his way.

Into this tension walked Tyler and…the Chef?

As if echoing your thoughts, Mark asked Tyler, “Why did you bring _them_?”

Tyler shrugged. “We were playing cards together when you called, and they wanted to come along.”

Abe looked at you as he said, “Like I said, some places you don’t go unless you have to. Can’t leave a partner behind, right?”

The Chef shrugged and said, “I was just curious, man. I can’t believe this place is still standing.”

“Wait.” Mark stared at Tyler. “You play cards with these guys? Since when?”

“Oh, it’s been a while.” Tyler saw Mark’s expression and said, “Well, it’s not like we were about to invite you.”

You listened to them bicker with a smile. They were all here. _They came back for you._ But the joy was bittersweet when you could still feel the mirror pulling at you, when you knew what would happen the second you tried to walk out that door.

You glanced at Abe and said you would be right back, hoping that he and Wilford could keep from shooting at each other for that long at least. Back in the study you found a leather briefcase and began putting all of Abe’s notes, all of the pictures and newspaper clippings, good and bad, into the case. At least you could make sure this much made it out of the house.

You were almost done when you heard someone at the door and turned, expecting the Detective.

But it was Mark, watching you with sad eyes.

“You tried to leave, didn’t you?”

You pulled the last of the pinned notes from the board and put it on the pile without answering.

Apparently that was answer enough because Mark said, “Y/N, I’m sorry. Maybe Dark knows something we can try—”

You shook your head again, the tears building up. “I don’t know how much time I have, Mark.”

Because even now your vision was fading, going in and out in spots. You were so tired, and every movement was like fighting against an anchor dragging you back toward the mirror. Back to that _thing_ in the void which would be waiting for you now, waiting with a smile.

Mark pulled you into a hug. You didn’t see a memory, or a vision of the future. Maybe there weren’t any left.

You had to lean on Mark to make it back to the others, where you sat on the edge of the table and pretended like you were okay while Chef and Tyler roamed as far into the house as they dared, loudly commenting on the state of the place. Abe took the briefcase when you gave it to him and held it close to his chest without asking what was inside. You could hear Mark and Dark talking to each other on the other side of the room, voices low even though it looked like they were arguing.

You saw Dark shake his head and glance your way before you closed your eyes with a sigh.

“What’s got you so down in the mouth?” Wilford asked, sitting down on the edge of the table so hard it threatened to tip over. He sounded as jolly and manic as ever, but when you opened your eyes you could see the stream of sweat going down the side of his face. It wasn’t good for him, being in this place for so long.

“Why don’t we burn this place down?” you asked.

Mark turned toward you, looking horrified. “But the mirror—"

“I’ve got some gas tanks and matches in my car,” Chef said cheerfully, having returned from the kitchen.

“What? _Why?_ ” Mark asked.

“You don’t need to know my business!”

While they argued back and forth, pulling Dark, Tyler, and Abe into it, you leaned closer to Wilford and whispered something in his ear. He seemed surprised for a moment, and when he looked at you it was with the eyes of the Colonel, of William.

“I promise,” was all he said.

“Hey, Chef,” you called.

“What do _you_ want?”

“Promise you’ll burn this place to the ground once everyone’s out?”

Chef flashed you a smile. “Oh, I’ll make sure it burns good.”

You nodded. That was all you needed to hear before your eyes closed and you fell forward.

Wilford caught your body before it hit the ground and felt it already fading in his arms as he turned and aimed, firing one shot straight into the mirror, shattering it into pieces.

You heard everyone shouting, the accusations, the concern, but as all of that died away the last thing you heard was Wilford’s voice.

“Wilford Warfstache don’t make mistakes.”

You didn’t know what breaking the mirror would do to you. It had never occurred to you, in all that time you were trapped in the house, because you always had that hope of escape. You weren’t sure if it would kill you, or break you again, or just leave you trapped in that void forever without even the mirror to cling to. It would leave one less way for that thing, that mask to come back, at least.

Memories swirled as you fell further and further into sleep. Your friends, your family, the accident that started all of this. Markiplier, Wilford, everyone else you had met and met again in the past few days, and that thing. Even now you weren’t sure what was real, how many of these memories were your own, or how much that mattered anymore. They were slipping away one by one as you tried to cling to something.

There was one thing that caught you as you fell.

A voice, talking beside your bed as you lay there. You couldn’t make out the words, just the rise and fall of the sound that you knew so well. Even in your sleep you smiled.

They were here. They were here, and that was all that mattered.

And you woke up.


	18. Epilogue(s)

The next time you woke up, there were more people in the room. Three people, one face. You heard talking, but before you could make out what they were saying they stopped mid-sentence.

“Y/N! How are you feeling?” Mark asked, turning around to face you. Behind him, Dark stood near the door, trying and failing to control his expression while his aura sputtered angrily around him.

“…Not great,” you said, too tired to even bother with more words. You hadn’t felt this bad since, well, when you first woke up in this version of reality.

“Considering the absolutely stupid stunt you had Wilford pull with that mirror, I’m not surprised,” Dark said, not even bothering to lower his voice. He crossed his arms with a scowl, but you stared at him for a different reason, something nagging at your sleepy brain.

“Now, now, let’s not get into what I may or may not have shot again,” Wilford said, waving his hands.

“There’s no ‘may’ about it, we all saw you shoot the mirror,” Mark pointed out.

“What matters is that my intern gets to feeling better before the next show,” Wilford said with a smile. He moved toward your bed but Mark quickly shot out an arm and stopped him, putting that arm around his shoulders in what could almost be mistaken for a hug, or a restraining maneuver.

“Then how about you not jump on Y/N then?” Mark asked, his smile a bit strained. “The doctor did say they needed to rest.”

“How long have I been asleep?” you asked, still looking at Dark. “Your arm’s already better, it was broken before!”

“Some of us heal more quickly than others,” Dark said, waving his hand with a smirk.

“You’ve been in and out of it for a couple of days,” Mark admitted, releasing Wilford now that he was distracted by the dresser mirror. “For a while there, we thought…Well, it doesn’t matter now.”

Dark sucked the breath in between his teeth, clearly feeling that it _did_ matter, but you watched Wilford play with the mirror, making faces at himself. You remembered waking up at least once before, you could almost feel the warmth on your hand again if nothing else.

“How’s everyone else?” you asked, wondering why you weren’t in the infirmary back at the ego house now. It was strange, seeing these three in the guest bedroom at Mark’s house that had been yours for a while, and you were slightly relieved you didn’t have any clothes or anything else personal in the dresser as Wilford started going through the drawers.

“Recovering,” Mark said, after a pause. “They’ll be fine, but the infirmary’s a bit of a madhouse right now. That’s one reason I wanted you here, where it’s quiet.”

Behind him, Dark’s aura flared out and Wilford glanced over his shoulder with a shaky grin. Probably a good thing you slept through that discussion.

You fell asleep again soon after, partially because you were tired, and more than a little bit because it gave you an excuse to check out on the growing tension in the air. You had a haze of memories of going in and out of sleep after that, different people passing through your room from these three to Amy to Tyler to Jack, Wade, and Bob saying goodbye before they had to leave town. You weren’t sure how long you slept in between each time, but gradually you started to regain your strength, enough to sit up and stay awake for longer periods of time.

The first ego you found in your room when you woke up was the Host, sitting near the open window with his head bent, quietly murmuring to himself. Besides the bandages around his eyes, you could just make out the white of another one beneath his jacket. You involuntarily winced again at the memory of Wilford shooting his friends, over and over again while they just laughed.

“The Host wishes Y/N to know that the wounds have almost completely healed. The other egos are already going back to their usual routines at the house, and some such as Google have inquired after Y/N’s status.”

“Google did?” you asked, feeling there was something wrong with that picture.

“Yes. Google is concerned about the status of the Y/N objective Dark and Mark installed in him and whether this conflicts with his secondary objective to destroy all humans. He has informed the Host that your death would make this simpler to process, but it would also mean that he has failed in an objective, which is unacceptable.”

Okay, that sounded more like it.

“Are you…are you okay? After what that thing did to you?”

The Host took a long time to answer, his fingers clenching into a fist before he slowly forced them to relax and sighed. “The Host does not wish to think about that again. It is gone for now, and for that the Host is grateful to Y/N. The Host has seen the cost if Y/N had not intervened, and…”

He trailed off, perhaps the first time you had ever heard him do so, and you tried to pretend like you couldn’t hear the sound that followed before he recovered and smiled.

“The Host also has the pleasure to tell Y/N that there is now a room for them at the house, if they wish to take it.”

“What? Really?” To be honest, you hadn’t thought much about where you would stay now. There had been so much to process over the last couple of days, when you were awake enough to do so. “You’d…be okay with me staying there?”

The Host smiled again but said, “Markiplier and Darkiplier are arguing about it downstairs. Mark wishes for you to stay here, for many reasons which Y/N is already aware. They wish to come to terms before they bring the idea to Y/N.”

“So, they’re trying to decide for me. Again.” If you hadn’t noticed a pattern before…

“When the Host spoke to Amy earlier, she suggested, ‘just let them yell it out, then tell them what you’re going to do.’ The Host believes Amy and Mark’s other friends have experience in the matter.”

“My choices are either here or the ego house?” you asked. Then again, it wasn’t like you had any money or somewhere else to go. It just felt uncomfortably like you were going to have to choose between Mark and Dark, and while you were willing to give Mark a second chance, you didn’t want to miss hanging out with the egos just because Dark is, well, Dark.

“The Host did not say that.” The Host tilted his head and said, “The Host notes that Y/N has a tendency to think it is always ‘either/or,’ when that is not the case.”

You studied the Host, and although his face was in silhouette with the sun behind him, you were sure that he was still smiling.

He was also still willing to answer questions, and through him you found out that Abe had been by several times while you were asleep, although getting past Mark, Dark, and a very affectionate Chica seemed to be too much for most of his visits. The Chef had set fire to Markiplier Manor like he promised with the help of a surprisingly enthusiastic Tyler, and Mark even bailed them out of jail afterwards. Since there was no record of there actually being a house there despite what the arresting officer claimed, the charges of arson were quietly dropped. All four of the Googles had been rebuilt despite Bing’s best efforts, and there seemed to be no trace of the “virus” in them or any of the others.

But there was one thing that you really wanted to know, even if you didn’t think the Host had the answer. Finally, you mustered up the nerve to ask, “Do you think I made the right choice? Coming back here?”

“The Host believes Y/N is referring to this ‘version’ of reality, as opposed to the one from their memories.”

“I…I had a choice, or at least I think I did, and I’m glad to see all of you again and know that you’re okay, _really_ , but…”

“But Y/N is concerned about their friends, their family.”

You nodded, unable to even look at the Host’s bandaged eyes, to see his expression.

“The Host recalls telling Y/N that they must decide for themselves what is real. What, in that moment after Wilford shot the mirror, did Y/N believe was real? The District Attorney? Or their own memories? Their friends and family? Or us?”

“…I wanted…to believe both were real,” you admitted slowly, still looking at the blanket over your legs. “I still can’t remember the District Attorney, but…”

But you didn’t want them to disappear anymore than your own memories.

“So, you chose both.” Softly he murmured to himself, and you could just barely catch the words, “Like a broken mirror, each piece is reflecting something else.”

“What?”

The Host paused as if considering something, for so long that you finally risked looking up in time to see another smile before it disappeared.

“May the Host tell Y/N a story?”

* * *

You felt as though you were falling, until you felt the hand on your own, heard the voice you could recognize even in your sleep. They cried so much when you woke up, the sheer relief that you were alive, that you were here.

“Here” was a hospital room, connected to wires and machines, a brace around your neck and more keeping your body from moving. The car wreck had left you with more broken bones and other kinds of damage than anyone was willing to tell you, and for a full minute the EMTs lost you. They rushed you back to the hospital, and after that there were surgeries and doctors and long nights where no one was sure if you would make it to the morning.

But you did.

The doctors told your family there was brain activity, but the shock may have been too much. There was a chance that you might not wake up.

But you did.

Even then, as one doctor told you in front of the friends who came by to see you for themselves, to try to help however they could, there had been spinal damage and they did what they could in surgery. Still, there was a chance that you might not walk again.

But, after yet another round of physical therapy, you did.

It was a slow, shaking step, followed by another, and another, your hands gripping the rails at your sides as your legs slowly, painfully remembered. But you were getting there.

You looked up to smile at your friend, who was recording this on their phone, because of course they were, and saw the mirror on the other side of the therapy room. For a moment, just a moment, you thought you saw someone else in the reflection.

He was gone in a flash, barely enough time to register that there was something there, but for a moment it looked like…

Your friend said something and you laughed it off and kept going. There was a long way to go to get back to normal, but you would get there. Still, as even the memory of that single glimpse faded, you couldn’t help but return the smile you saw in the mirror, beneath that bright pink mustache.

Maybe not _too_ normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end. Thank you for reading!


End file.
